Lifeboat
by Maddy Lake Deep
Summary: While Tim and Frank investigate sadistic murders of a serial killer, Bayliss always felt alone, lost...until the unexpected happened. TimOC. Please R&R!
1. Twentynine

Title: _Lifeboat_

Author: _Olivia Adams Smith_

Character(s): Tim Bayliss, Frank Pembleton

Rating: PG-13 for adult themes, minor language and disturbing content

Category: Angst, romance, drama, hurt/comfort

Spoilers: I imagine this taking place during season 3, so if you haven't seen it yet, don't read this story.

Summary: While Tim and Frank investigate sadistic murders of a serial killer, Bayliss always felt alone, lost…until the unexpected happened.

Disclaimer: I don't own Homicide. I do own Ann Sheldon and a few minor characters.

**Author's note:** _This is my second Homicide fic and since it's going to be a longer story, I would really like to know what you think. Any constructive criticism is always welcome._

* * *

**Chapter one:** _Twenty-nine_

Detective Stanley Bolander looked up. His partner, John Munch shuffled inside the squad room and stopped in front of Stanley's desk.

Munch breathed a frustrated sigh. "It's always the same thing."

"Phylicia? "

"Don't ask. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Alright, I won't ask and we won't talk about it."

Munch leaned forward onto Bolander's desk. "You know what she had the nerve to tell me?"

Bolander ignored his partner and busied himself with paperwork.

"You don't care about the lousy night I had?"

"Munch, you told me not to ask or talk about it."

"Since when you listen to me?"

Meldrick Lewis stood at Crosetti's desk, staring at it; still shocked about his partner's suicide…missing him terribly.

Kay Howard glanced with profound concern at her partner, Beau Felton sitting across from her desk. "Hey," she said to Felton holding his forehead. "You okay?"

A dejected Felton looked up, solemnly meeting her gaze. "I can't stop thinking about my wife and kids. I've gotta find them, Kay. I've gotta find them."

At the moment, despite the conversations and everything going on around him, Detective Tim Bayliss sat at his desk in deep thought while he anxiously puffed on a cigarette. Emma Zoole. He had been so certain she was the one the first time his eyes locked onto hers; so certain he was in love. Now Tim had been more confused and uncertain about love, about everything, even his job. His eyes fell to the picture he kept on his desk…the framed portrait of Adena Watson…the unsolved case. He hated feeling like a failure, and though he tried not to think about it, Tim hadn't been exactly successful at anything so far. Startled by the ringing of his phone, he blinked a few times as if jarred out of a trance. Hesitating to answer it, Tim stared at the phone…ringing, ringing until he grabbed the receiver.

"Homicide…Detective Bayliss."

* * *

Tim drove the white car while Frank sat beside him. Bayliss was not at all fond of speeding and as they neared Bank Street, the tires hobbled slowly over cobblestones. Tim gazed ahead at numerous police cars and an ambulance. Bayliss wondered if he should be the primary. What if this turned out to be like Adena? Another unsolved case…another failure for the rookie detective. He wasn't sure if he could handle it. And then Tim mentally shoved the negative, gloomy thoughts out of his mind and focused on what was crucial at the moment. Parking a few feet from the Baltimore City Police cars, Tim along with Frank hurried out into the chilly night air. Clad in their trench coats, they quickly headed inside an alley. Cops stood by. Pictures were taken of a naked body sprawled face down and wedged between garbage bags.

Tim said to one of the officers, "Sergeant Coleman? You wanna fill us in on what happened here?"

Sergeant Joe Coleman answered, "The deceased is a female, Caucasian. We got a call from her friend who found the body."

"Where's this friend?"

"She's over there," said Joe, nodding his head toward a young woman leaning against one of the police cars.

"What's her name?"

"Marissa Clearwater."

Both detectives slipped on a pair of latex gloves and knelt over the body. Tim clicked on his flashlight. Turning the body onto it's back, he studied it meticulously…the body sadistically beaten and marred with dry blood. Bayliss swallowed hard. His stomach rolled with nausea. Thinking to himself…

"_Will I ever get used to this?"_

He then noticed something else…where her hands had been and now, only bloody stumps. Disturbed at the thought of someone killing this woman so horribly, he shuddered but managed to shift his attention back to investigating the murder.

"Tim," said Frank, holding his flashlight close to the woman's forehead. "You see that?"

Bayliss' eyes narrowed as he studied it closer. "Yeah, I see it. It looks like the killer took a sharp object…a knife maybe and carved a—number?"

Frank looked up at his partner. "Twenty-nine."

Puzzled, Tim eyed the blood-crusted mark again and saw that it was indeed twenty-nine. "Twenty-nine?" He glanced at the victim's friend and while staring at her, he said to Frank, "Let's find out what she knows."

Yanking off the gloves and discarding them into a garbage can, they walked toward the woman with long, straight auburn hair and wearing a red sweater coat. Her arms clenched against her chest. She shivered, staring down at the ground.

"Marissa Clearwater," Tim mumbled. "Clearwater?" He frowned, looking at Frank.

Pembleton shrugged. "It's not a common last name but I've heard it before. Okay, for example…Clearwater, Florida."

"That's different. It's a city."

"What? A person can't have the same name as a city?"

"I'm not saying that, it's just…Clearwater…it sounds, y'know."

"You mean it sounds…nerdy, odd, strange for someone to have Clearwater as a last name."

"Well?"

"Tim, are we gonna find out what she knows or we're gonna continue this discussion about why her last name is Clearwater?"

Tim realized the conversation was inane and kept quiet until they stopped near the Clearwater woman.

Bayliss said, "Miss Clearwater?"

"Marissa," she answered in a shaky voice. "Don't call me Clearwater. I hate that name."

Tim peeked at Frank again and then his eyes darted back to the woman. With a pen and a small notepad in his hand, he asked, "Alright, Marissa. I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. Can you tell us anything about your friend? Her name, where she lived?"

She pushed herself to look up at the detectives. "I can't believe she's--," the woman hesitated. Taking a deep breath, Marissa went on. "Her name is Samantha Ashkin. I always called her Sam. She lived at 1425 Fountain Street."

"Did she live alone?

Marissa nodded.

"What about a boyfriend?"

"She didn't have a boyfriend. Sam was an artist. She spent most of her time painting and when she had time, we'd hang out together."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a waitress."

"Are you sure she wasn't dating anyone?"

Marissa nodded again.

Frank cut in. "What makes you so certain?"

"Sam would've told me. When she met someone, that's one thing she never kept secret."

Bayliss added, "Well, is it possible that maybe this time she wanted to keep it a secret?"

"No," Marissa insisted. "She would've told me."

Tim nodded and after finishing what he had written, he asked another question. "Did she have any enemies?"

"No. Sam was the sweetest person I've ever known. Who would wanna kill her--," she paused, pressing trembling fingers against her lips.

"Well, that's what we're trying to find out." Bayliss tapped his pen against the pad. He squinted, thinking, and then the tapping stopped. "How did you find her in the alley? I mean, you just happen to come along and find her there?"

"That's what I don't understand. It's strange."

Frank said, "What's strange?"

Marissa reached inside her sweater pocket, taking out a gold necklace and what appeared to be a small three-fold paper. She gave it to Tim. "I looked at the front of my car and saw this envelope sticking out of the windshield wiper. I opened it and inside was a note and this necklace with Sam's name on it, but she doesn't have a necklace like that. Then I read the note. It said, Samantha's in trouble and it was important I meet her in this alley."

Pembleton asked, "Have you seen this handwriting before?"

"No."

"Are you sure she didn't know anyone? She didn't have any male friends?"

"The only men she knew were acquaintances, not friends. Some are artists and neighbors."

Tim had taken his turn to ask the next question. "Do you have names of these acquaintances?"

Frightened, Marissa refused to answer.

Tim, noting her fear had wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. "Marissa," he said softly. "Whoever did this, it had to be someone Samantha knew. And this person also knows you."

Marissa huffed. "I'll give you names but I have a hard time believing they would do something like this. And if it's someone I know, Sam would've told me--,"

"Marissa," Frank interrupted. "You keep saying Sam would've told you. Were you around her every minute? I don't care how close you are to someone, they won't always tell you all the details of their life or what they're doing."

Offended at Frank's harshness, she rolled her eyes away from the detectives; and yet Marissa had known Pembleton was right.

"Uh, Marissa," Tim said gently. "We found something on Samantha's forehead."

"I know." She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. A tear rolled down and when she opened her eyes again, Marissa angrily smeared the tear away. "What the hell is that? Why would someone cut twenty-nine onto her forehead?"

"How old was Samantha?"

"She was—Oh my God. Oh my God!" Marissa clenched trembling arms against her chest again. "She was twenty-nine."

While Tim and Frank headed back to the station, Pembleton said, "Twenty-nine. So, Tim, you think whoever killed Samantha is because of her age?"

"Yeah." He took his eyes off the road and shot a quick glance at Frank. "You think I'm wrong about this?"

"No, I think it's a possibility you may be right. The killer made sure the number was… 'tattooed' on her forehead and she was twenty-nine years old. It makes sense."

"The question is," Tim went on to say, "Why was she killed because of her age? And why were her hands cut off? The hands…it reminds me of the White Glove killer, except this time the hands are missing. And…why would the killer give Marissa a note along with a necklace so that she can find the body?"

"So you're speculating this crime was committed by another serial killer."

"I hope not, Frank, but the way she was killed--," He stopped, careful of being hasty about the possibility it could be another serial killer. Tim hadn't said another word as the car veered the corner of a dim-lit street.

--

Inside the squad room, Tim stared at the board of victim's names. Some red, some black. Unsolved. Solved. It still haunted him, seeing 'Watson' in red. Fighting the tears that crept their way into his eyes, he composed himself and wrote: 219 Ashkin.

--

The next morning, after Bayliss had his coffee, he joined Frank inside Lieutenant Giardello's office. Lieutenant Megan Russert was also there, sitting at the desk while Gee stood nearby; both waiting for more news about Samantha Ashkin.

Tim stood by his partner. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Samantha was not only beaten to death…she was raped…repeatedly. The M.E. found traces of semen and multiple vaginal tearing."

Russert asked, "Any luck with the names Marissa gave you?"

"We questioned everyone and well, right now it's a dead end. I—uh--," Tim let out a frustrated sigh.

Gee said, "Go on Bayliss, spit it out."

"Sir, I don't believe this is an isolated case."

"Because," Gee calmly and confidently added, "The number twenty-nine on her forehead and she was twenty-nine years old. You're thinking this person could be another serial killer."

"Yes, that's what I think. The way she was killed. The note and necklace…it fits the pattern of a serial killer."

"Tim," Russert interrupted. "Yes, it's possible this may not be an isolated case but for now, all we have is Samantha Ashkin. Keep working on it."

Tim and Frank left the office. Standing outside, Frank said to his partner, "We should talk to Marissa again."

"You think she's not telling us everything?"

"Yes, I do."

Lewis marched up to the detectives. "Hey, Bayliss, you better answer your phone. It's been ringing for the past five minutes and driving me crazy."

Tim hurried over to his desk and answered it. "Homicide, Detective Bayliss. What?" He flipped open his notepad and quickly jotted down information. "Alright, we'll be there." Tim rushed back to Pembleton sitting at his desk. "Frank, we got another body."

Tim shook his head while driving.

Frank looked at him. "What?"

"I keep thinking about what the M.E. said…the marks around Samantha's ankles; rope marks. Her hands were most likely tied while he raped and beat her but we can't find the hands. There was nothing she could do, Frank. Nothing. What is the world coming to, huh? I mean, how can the mind get so perverted to do something like that?"

"Evil," Frank simply stated. "Evil, like a cancer in the killer's mind. It keeps spreading and spreading until it's out of control. No regrets. No remorse. I've seen it in their eyes…darkness…lost souls."

Tim briefly watched Frank who at times left him speechless. He found himself awed by the hard-edged Pembleton. They were so different. Who would have ever thought they could be partners, and yet Frank was his partner and his friend, though he had never told him that…not yet.

The white car came to a short stop. Again the detectives bolted toward the crime scene…another body, another alley, but this time behind row houses. A crowd of tenants stood behind the yellow crime scene tape. Some tried to sneak their way to the front. Some peeked and obviously frustrated at those blocking their view, as if watching a dead body had been the 'in' thing…the new entertainment.

Tim knelt over the body covered with a white sheet. He lifted the sheet, observing pale nakedness, more blood, more bruises. There were the same marks that circled her ankles. The hands, amputated and on her forehead, another 'twenty-nine' etched deeply into the skin. He stood and approached by a female officer.

"Detective Bayliss," she said, "This man found the body."

A tall, burly man stepped up to the detectives. Tim asked him, "What's your name?"

"Robert Carpenter."

"Did you know the deceased?"

Distraught, he replied, "Yeah, she was my girlfriend."

"Do you have a note and a necklace?"

Surprised at what Bayliss had known, the man with dark, curly hair said, "Yeah." Robert reached inside the pocket of his red plaid jacket and took out an envelope. "That's how I found her. Someone told me she's in trouble and I should meet her here."

Tim opened the envelope. Inside was the same three-fold note and a gold necklace. He studied the name. "Sheila?"

"Yeah, that's her name…Sheila Monroe, but I never gave her that necklace."

Frank peered around at the body. His hands tucked inside the pockets of his beige trench coat. Thinking for a moment until looking at Robert again. "How old was Sheila?"

"Twenty-nine."

At that answer, Tim eyed Frank while showing him the note written in small, unscripted letters. He then lifted the necklace that gleamed in the sunlight. "An isolated case," Bayliss mumbled. "Not anymore."

**TBC**


	2. Circles

**A/N: **_detective-sweetheart, thank you so much for your reviews! I appreciate it and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I had to work harder on writing this chapter along with developing Ann, my original character. Let me know what you think! Again, any constructive criticism about grammar errors, etc, will be greatly appreciated. _

* * *

**Chapter two:** _Circles_

On the board, beneath Ashkin, Tim wrote the name: Monroe. He then walked into the refreshments area, took a cup and poured his second coffee of the day. Bayliss had been unaware of Kay watching him at her desk. She strode up to the tall detective in one of his charcoal-gray suits.

Startled by her presence, Tim said, "Kay? What's up?"

"How's it going?"

Bayliss chuckled and after taking a sip of his coffee, he looked up at the red headed Kay Howard. "It shows that much?"

"What?"

"My frustration about this case. And—and Frank, it doesn't bother him. He's calm; he's cool. There's another victim. We have no suspects and he's calm. I don't know. Maybe he should be the primary instead of me."

"Listen, Tim…I understand how much the Adena Watson case meant to you but you can't let it stop you from moving on, from doing what you're good at."

Surprised at her compliment, he replied, "You're saying I'm a good cop?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"A good cop." Bayliss gazed past Kay's shoulder, squinting, pondering what she said and pouting. "I wanna believe that, Kay. I really do." He walked away and now Kay was frustrated at her attempt to help him feel better.

She muttered, "It must be contagious around here."

As Tim marched toward his desk…

"Bayliss."

He turned to see Frank standing behind him.

"Why don't we interview Sheila's boyfriend again and Marissa?"

A flustered Tim screamed inwardly at the pressure of quickly solving a case with no leads. Sighing, he replied, "Alright. Let's head over to Robert's place first."

--

The detectives stood outside the porch of Robert Carpenter's house. Frank knocked on the door until it had opened. There stood Robert wearing a white turtleneck and gray trousers.

"Tell me you found the bastard."

Tim said regrettably, "We didn't find the killer yet."

"Then what do you want?"

"We, uh—we need to ask you more questions."

"More questions?"

"Please, Mr. Carpenter. It's important."

Baffled, Robert let them inside and after shutting the door; the detectives followed him in to the living room. Frank sat down in a chair while Tim seated himself beside Robert on the black leather sofa.

Mr. Carpenter asked, "What else do you need to know? I've already told you I'm an accountant and so was she. We met at the same firm. Sheila and I were dating for a year and we were thinking about getting married."

"What we wanna know is," said Tim, "before you found the envelope outside the front of your car, you never saw anyone hanging around, looking suspicious?"

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "No."

Frank leaned forward. "The necklace…are you sure you've never seen it before?"

"Yes," Robert answered, exhausted and annoyed with their questions. "I'm sure. Look, I—I can't talk about it anymore. Every night I have nightmares. I keep seeing her body and--," he shuddered and blinked from tears seeping into his eyes.

Frank peeked at Tim shutting his notepad, signaling to him that the interview was over. Bayliss said softly. "I'm sorry you had to find her like that."

Furious, Robert shouted, "I want you to find the sick bastard who killed her!"

"When we find out more, we'll let you know."

The detectives left behind a distraught Robert Carpenter and as they strolled toward the car, Bayliss said, "Frank, if you're thinking about questioning Marissa again, it's a waste of time."

"Really?"

"She's only gonna tell us the same thing Robert said…she doesn't know anything." He sat in the car and shut the door while Frank settled himself in the driver's seat. I'm not going back into a dead end, alright? What we should do is find out where those necklaces were purchased. Hopefully it'll lead us to something."

Frank switched on the ignition. He then sank his head back against the seat, staring ahead as if thinking and puckered his lips. "Do you have a specific jewelry store in mind?"

"There's one on Fountain Street, not far from where Samantha lived. Kellie's jewelry shop; sound familiar?"

"Yes, it does, because it's not far from where I live."

"That's right. You live on Fountain Street, too. Who knows, as we get to know each other more, maybe we can--,"

Frank peeked at Tim and curious about what he didn't finish. "We can what? Oh, I know. I can visit your house and you'll visit mine. Yeah…maybe one day. You would love my wife's cooking."

Tim smiled. "I'm sure I would."

--

Tim and Frank sauntered inside Kellie's Jewelry Shop. They looked around. It had a quaint ambiance, bringing them back to the colonial days of Baltimore. A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter where numerous pieces of jewelry had been displayed beneath glass.

She smiled amicably. "Can I help you?"

Tim asked, "Are you Kellie?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. We need to ask a few questions about your jewelry. Do you sell gold necklaces with names on them?"

"Yes, I do," said the short and stout woman. Her gray hair streamed down beside black, like the keys on a piano.

"Can you show us please?"

She unlocked the glass door. Sliding it open, she took out a long black velvet display carton. On top lay necklaces, some gold, some silver with names.

Tim said to Frank, "It looks exactly like the necklaces in those envelopes."

Puzzled, Kellie stared at the detectives. "What's this about?"

Frank told her, "We're investigating a case and--,"

The woman gasped. "You mean those two women who were found murdered?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"I knew one of them."

Frank's eyes widened. "You did?"

Kellie nodded, evidently shaken. "Samantha Ashkin.

"Did she come in here frequently with anyone?"

"Yes, with a woman."

Tim queried, "Does this woman have auburn hair? Possibly wearing a red sweater coat when you saw her?"

"Yeah, that's the woman. I remember hearing Samantha calling her Marissa."

"When they were together, did they buy anything?"

"No, just looking. But a few days before Samantha was murdered, she came in alone and bought a necklace with her name on it. She seemed really excited buying it."

Tim frowned. "Samantha bought the necklace?"

"Yes."

As the car veered away from the shop, a baffled Tim replayed one particular question in his mind…

"_**Samantha bought the necklace?"**_

And Kellie answered…

"_**Yes."**_

Her answer also replayed itself like a needle skipping over an old record…

"_**Yes. Yes."**_

Sitting in the passenger seat again, Tim shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Samantha buy the necklace and then Marissa finds it in the envelope?"

"And," Frank added, "Why didn't Marissa tell us about the jewelry shop? Why did Samantha and Sheila buy necklaces from different stores, and then a few days later the necklaces are found by two people they were close to?"

"What are you saying? That Marissa and Robert are involved in these murders? What would be their motive?"

"What I'm saying is I believe they know more that what they told us. Let's interview them again. I don't care how many times we gotta do it."

"Okay," Bayliss answered and sighed. "Okay."

Marissa slammed the front door while Tim and Frank stood inside the small foyer of her apartment.

"Make yourselves comfortable," she said, motioning her hand toward the sofa. "Though I don't know why I bothered letting you in."

They sat down on the burgundy sofa but Marissa chose to sit at a distance from them.

She said, "Why are you questioning me again?"

Tim began, "Marissa, why didn't you tell us about Kellie's jewelry shop?"

"What?"

"We just came from there. Kellie, she saw you and Samantha a few times looking at jewelry."

Marissa slid shaky hands down to her knees hidden beneath navy blue jeans. She then rolled up the sleeves of her powder blue cardigan.

"Are you all right?"

"I—uh—I'm still upset about Sam. And…I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the store. I didn't think it was important."

"Anything you tell us is helpful."

"Marissa," Frank asked. "When you were in the shop with Samantha, did she talk about buying a necklace?"

"No. We were just looking that's all."

"She had no interest in any of the necklaces."

Frustrated, Marissa raised her voice. "No."

"And yet," Tim interrupted, "Samantha went back to the shop and bought a necklace she had no interest in when you were with her."

"I don't know why she did that? I've never seen her wear it."

"Do you know Robert Carpenter?"

"Robert—I don't know any Robert Carpenter.

"He was also given an envelope with a note, with a necklace and he found his girlfriend's body."

"You're talking about the other woman…Sheila Monroe?"

Bayliss nodded.

Look, I've had enough of this. You're treating me like I'm a suspect? Why? I can't believe you think--," Shocked and offended, Marissa shook her head. "I'm very busy so please leave."

"Marissa," Tim said softly. "You're not a suspect. We have to ask these questions, especially when you're not telling us certain things we need to know; anything that can help us find the killer."

Miss Clearwater leaned closer to them. Her eyes glared. "You think I'm stupid? You were treating me like a suspect! You have no other suspects and so you think I killed my best friend and Sheila, a woman I didn't know. Another thing, when Samantha and Sheila were killed, I was working at the diner."

Tim looked down at the closed notepad in his hand. "We know."

Marissa pressed trembling fingers against her lips and on the verge of falling apart. She took her hand away and said, "I'm terrified. In a few months I'll be twenty-nine. If the killer isn't caught soon, I know I'll be a victim…just like Sam and Sheila. Please, stop questioning me and find whoever is doing this!"

--

On their way back to the precinct, this time Bayliss sat in the driver's seat. Waiting at a red light, his fist pummeled against the steering wheel. "We have no suspects. The only thing we know is the victims bought the necklaces and not the killer. Marissa and Robert…I told you, Frank, a waste of time. We're just going in circles."

Red light switched to green. Tim grasped the wheel, making a sharp turn around the corner. "Circles," he shouted.

--

The three o'clock bell chimed through the halls and inside classrooms. Ann Sheldon watched her students as they sprang from their seats. Before they left, she stood at her desk and quickly said, "Don't forget to bring in your poems tomorrow."

While Ann stuffed some folders and books inside her briefcase, she looked up to see most of her students had gone, except for one African-American girl walking timidly up to the desk. Ann tilted her head and smiled. "Mandy? What's wrong?"

"Miss Sheldon," Mandy spoke, barely audible. "Do I have to read my poem in front of everyone?"

"Yes, you do. I know you don't like reading your work out loud but I also know you can do it. Mandy, you're very gifted."

"I am?" she said insecurely.

"Yes, you are. Have you forgotten your poems I put up on that board in the hall?"

Mandy smiled shyly. "No."

"You'll be fine," Ann assured her.

Mandy smiled again at her favorite teacher whose straight dark hair flowed from beneath a white headband, down against her cinnamon skin and onto Ann's shoulders.

Miss Sheldon said, "See you tomorrow." Hesitating from closing her briefcase, she watched Mandy walking toward the open door. Shyness, insecurity, fear…they weren't strangers to Ann. She had to deal with many other students like Mandy and like someone else very close to her…

"_**I can't, Ann. I don't wanna talk about it anymore!"**_

"_**Anita, you're giving up? Why?"**_

"_**I told you why."**_

"_**I know but you can do this. You're not stupid."**_

"Anita," Ann mumbled, smiling. When Mandy left the room, Miss Sheldon shut the briefcase. She then swung a black knee-length coat around her white turtleneck sweater. After slipping it on, she also swung the strapped briefcase onto her shoulder. The petite Ann Sheldon headed out and stopped short at seeing Mr. Hutchison, a social studies teacher. He stood nearby while Ann switched off the lights and locked the door.

"Everything okay?" He asked in a gruff voice.

She turned, giving Wayne Hutchison a half-hearted smile. It had nothing to do with not liking him. Ann had never been comfortable with anyone. Her job and making sure her students got the best education…that's all that mattered to Ann.

"Yes," was all she said, walking alongside him.

"Are you sure? I heard one of your students threw a chair at you," said Wayne as they descended the stairs.

"Trenton Anthony Johnson," Ann stated, keeping the smile on her lips touched lightly with pink gloss. "Taj. He's a sweet kid but what's been going on at his house…I know that's why he's been very angry and his grades aren't good. I'm not making excuses for what he did. I thought if I helped him he'd get better; it seemed like he was but then I found myself doing the same thing over and over. He refused to listen or do anything."

They halted a short distance from the exit. Ann continued. "He's been transferred out of my class and placed in Special Ed for now."

"You've done all you could for him, Ann."

Miss Sheldon nodded, at the same time; disappointed she was unable to do more. "See you tomorrow," she said to him in a stoic tone and marched out of the school.

Ann hadn't bothered to button her coat. She shivered from the late winter chill, but that wouldn't be for long since Ann's car was parked around the corner. When reaching her red Chevy Malibu, she stopped suddenly and stared at an envelope sticking out from the windshield wiper. Cautiously, she grasped the crinkled envelope, as if someone had been in a hurry to put it there. Ann plopped inside her car and placed the envelope and briefcase onto the passenger seat. Before driving off, she peeked at it again, wondering what it was inside it; who put it there? Lately she had been concerned about the gruesome murders; both women were twenty-nine…her age. What woman wouldn't be concerned or worried…afraid. And yet Ann had the habit of berating herself from worrying, as if it had been a weakness to worry, to be afraid.

Exhausted, she had been in a hurry to get home and decided on checking it then. The Chevy sped off down the street and approaching the intersection, there had been no time for Ann to avoid the inevitable. Another car breezed past a red light. She stomped her foot on the brakes, losing control, swerving and then both cars collided.

--

"Any leads yet?" Lewis asked as he stopped near Frank's desk. Pembleton sat in silence, cradling his bald head in his hands.

Tim leaned against the desk, squeezing his eyes with his fingers. He then looked up at Meldrick whose question caught the attention of the other detectives, and Gee strolling out of his office to know what was going on. "No, Lewis," said a frustrated Bayliss. "We don't have any leads. So far we've got nothing."

Frank swung himself around in the chair and faced the others. "Well, I won't say we don't have nothing. At first we suspected the killer bought the necklaces but it was the victims."

Felton scrunched his face. "The victims bought the necklaces?"

"Yeah," Tim remarked. "And what's strange about this whole thing is these women didn't wear the necklaces. Why buy them?"

Tim heard his phone ring. His colleagues stared, waiting for him to answer it. Bayliss hastened toward the phone and after answering it, they watched as he hurried back. Tim glanced at an eager Gee wanting to know about the call. He then looked at everyone else, sighing. "We've got another body."

--

Pratt Street. Tim and Frank found themselves in another alley between two stores. And again, the bludgeoned body had been partially hidden between garbage bags. Tim stared in frustration and sadness at the victim whom this time was African-American.

Ann had had enough of the chaotic ER, wanting to go home, wanting to be with Anita. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed and when the doctor returned, she refused to give him a chance to say anything else.

"Look, I'm fine. I just have a bruise on my head."

"Miss Sheldon, it's best if more tests are done to make sure you're okay before leaving here."

At that moment, both looked up at Tim and Frank standing near the curtain.

"Who are you?" said the doctor.

Tim stared awkwardly at Ann, as if he was looking at a ghost. Noting his staring made her uneasy; his eyes fleeted away from her and answered the doctor. "I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. We need to speak with Miss Sheldon."

"I hope it won't be long. She needs to have some tests done."

They waited until he left but as Tim opened his mouth, he was quickly interrupted.

"Detectives? What do you want with me?"

Tim drew in a deep breath. She had to know, though it pained him to say it, she had to know. "Do you have a twin sister, Anita?"

"Yes." Alarmed, she added, "Is she alright?"

"Uh—Miss Sheldon," Tim began as gentle as he could. "Anita was murdered."

**TBC**


	3. Ann

**_Tim drew in a deep breath. She had to know, though it pained him to say it, she had to know. "Do you have a twin sister, Anita?"_**

"_**Yes." Alarmed, she added, "Is she alright?"**_

"_**Uh—Miss Sheldon," Tim began as gentle as he could. "Anita was murdered."**_

* * *

****

**Chapter three:** _Ann _

_--_

Ann's lips fell. Shocked, numb and shaking her head at them in disbelief.

Tim continued. "She was found on Pratt Street by someone who identified her as your sister.

"No," Ann said obstinately. "That person is wrong. Anita is home."

"Miss Sheldon," Tim answered, seeing she was in denial he wanted to be careful. "Anita isn't home."

She shook her head again with a smirk on her lips. "You've got the wrong information. I'm going home." Ann hopped down from the bed.

Frank held out his hand, blocking her. "Before you go, do you have a white envelope?"

Ann furrowed her eyebrows, comprehending his question, and then the teacher recalled what had been found on her car window. "Yes," she replied as if in a daze. "Why do you want it?"

"It's related to the murders and--,"

"You still think Anita was murdered," Ann shouted. There had been an awkward silence after that. Ann managed to calm down and moped over to her coat and briefcase that lay on a chair. She opened the briefcase, slowly pulling out the wrinkled envelope. Something slid from one side to the other. "I was too exhausted to open it. I figured I'd wait until I got home."

The envelope hadn't been sealed tight. Effortlessly, she peeled it open. Taking out a three-fold note, her eyes widened at what had been written. And they widened even more while studying the necklace…a gold necklace with the name 'Anita' in fancy letters. Ann dropped the necklace, note and envelope onto the floor. She then grabbed her coat, briefcase and stormed into the chaotic hall.

Tim rushed after her. "Miss Sheldon!"

She braked in her tracks, frozen where she stood; and then Ann swayed a little as she faced him.

Tim looked down with profound concern at the petite woman. "Are you okay? The doctor is right--," he glanced at the swollen, ruddy bruise above her left eye. "You should stay and get more tests done."

"I'm fine," Ann said coldly.

"Well, I don't think you should go home alone. Is there anyone you can call?"

Ann's eyes meandered to the floor. She nodded, trying desperately to hide her fear, the reality of Anita's murder. She met his gaze again, a gaze that lingered in a way that shouldn't have happened. Uneasy, she said, "I have to go."

"Wait,"

Annoyed with his persistence, she huffed while noticing what looked like a small business card in Tim's hand.

"Here's my number at the precinct. Don't hesitate to call if you need any help."

Ann took the card, peeked at it; her eyes warily glanced at him again and then she marched away from him. Flustered, Tim sighed while watching her breeze past harried nurses and doctors.

--

Another morning. Another victim. Tim had to drag himself out of bed, wishing he could take a break from pondering a case that absolutely made no sense. Questions…so many questions and still no suspects. Yes, there were the necklaces they assumed the killer purchased. That would have made sense unless…interrupted by a sudden thought Bayliss hesitated from writing Sheldon in red on the board. He then proceeded, writing it quickly, and before telling Frank about his thought, he hurried off inside the small cafeteria. Munch had also been there, sitting at the table with Bolander and Lewis who had already eaten half of his jelly donut. They were discussing the Waterfront bar, but to Tim, they might as well been talking at a vast distance; his mind in constant motion as he poured coffee into a cup. While stirring milk into it, he looked up at the television. A female reporter stood outside the precinct…

"After the third victim had been found yesterday afternoon, many women, particularly those who are twenty-nine years old don't feel safe on the streets. There are still no suspects and although this person has not been identified, on the street, the attacker is known as the twenty-nine killer. Live outside the Baltimore City Police Department, this is Maria Delgado--,"

Her voice faded along with every other sound around Tim Bayliss. He stared unblinking at the television. Two victims flashed vividly in his mind…the third, Anita Sheldon, and another victim haunting him relentlessly…Adena.

"Tim?"

A voice brought him back to the present. Bayliss could no longer fight the blinking reflex and his eyes fluttered a few times. He turned, seeing that it was Meldrick who called him.

"You okay?"

He glanced at Munch and Bolander as if for a moment he had been confused.

Munch leaned against the table with crossed arms against his chest. "You look flushed."

"Yeah," Lewis agreed, looking at Tim again. "You do."

"I'm alright."

"You sure?" said Lewis, "Because when I asked if you were gonna be at the bar tonight, you just stood there, like you was in a trance or something."

"I can't be at the bar tonight. I—uh, I gotta work on this case." Tim strode away from them and suddenly halted at the interrogation room known as 'the box' Stepping inside, he sipped some coffee, placed it onto the table and stared at numerous pictures of victims on a board. His eyes darted to Anita. Tim squeezed them shut, thinking about Ann. He knew it had to be hard for her, losing not only a sister but also a twin. Was she still in denial? He needed to do something to help her, and what consumed his thoughts, what frightened him greatly…she was twenty-nine.

At that moment, Frank entered the room. "Tim."

Bayliss opened his eyes. Turning, he stared exhaustedly at Pembleton standing in the doorway.

Frank had gone on to say, "Gee wants to see us."

Both detectives stood inside the Lieutenant's office, watching Gee pacing anxiously near his desk until he stopped.

"Do you have anything, anything besides the victims bought the necklaces?"

Frustrated again, Tim shook his head. "No, we don't."

Gee shot an annoyed glance at Tim and Frank but he went on calmly. "Everyone you interviewed, they all have alibis and they didn't see anyone suspicious? No one knows anything."

Tim and Frank were uncomfortably silent.

"You're missing something--," Gee let out an irritated sigh. "You know we're getting pressure from the media about this. And not only the media…Barnfather is asking questions about why there aren't any suspects."

Frank answered, "We're aware of that."

"Women who are twenty-nine or close to it are panicking."

"Gee," Tim politely interrupted. "I thought of something while writing Sheldon on the board. We know the victims bought the necklaces. Why would three women buy the same necklaces? It's possible these women were involved romantically with the killer. I believe whoever this person is had manipulated them into buying the necklaces. The killer won't be seen in the store, only the women."

"If you believe these women were romantically involved with the killer, then interview their family and friends again about anyone they were dating presently, ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands. What about Anita's sister, Ann? Find out if she knows anything." Gee's facial features hardened. "Tim, close this case."

--

5 P.M.

The white car…its tires gingerly rolled down the street of brownstone apartments. Bayliss sat behind the wheel, looking through the window at each house. "3282 Pratt Street," he mumbled. "3282…there it is."

After parking, Tim and Frank got out of the car and looked up at the old brownstones that were rather dreary, run down on the outside. They clambered the steps until reaching the glass door protected by bars of black filigree wrought iron. Tim saw the name 'Sheldon' under the bell and pressed it. No answer. He rang the bell again and then…

"Who is it?" came a stoic, uninviting female voice through the intercom.

"It's Detective Tim Bayliss and my partner."

They expected to hear a 'buzz' Instead; there had been nothing but cold silence. Tim peeked at Frank.

Pembleton said, "Maybe she uh, needs to put on something more appropriate."

"Or maybe she doesn't wanna let us in."

A sudden buzz cut their conversation. Frank grasped the handle and while opening the door he smiled at Bayliss. "Don't be so negative, Tim."

Tim smirked at Frank's remark and proceeded into the brownstone. Frank followed him inside the dim foyer lit by a small three-tiered chandelier. They sauntered past a stairway and continued onward to the end of the hall, to apartment one…the only apartment on that floor that was just as dreary as the outside. Tim grasped the doorknocker, tapping three times. Again they waited. _Click. Click._ Locks were unlocked. The door creaked open and Ann's petite face peered through the tiny crack.

Tim hesitated to speak, lost in her gaze, her eyes the shade of warm honey had drawn him in, like what happened at the hospital. _"What's going on?"_ he thought. Quickly shrugging away his feelings, he focused on what he should be doing. "Miss Sheldon? We're sorry to bother you but we need to ask you some questions."

Ann opened the door wider. Bayliss could now see all of her in a black Kimono-style caftan. She quietly let them inside. This time they walked through a shorter foyer and beneath an arch that led them into the immaculate living room.

"Do you want anything?" Ann asked. "Coffee? Tea?"

Tim and Frank eyed one another and then Pembleton replied, "No, thank you. We're fine."

"Well," said Ann. "Don't be shy. Have a seat."

Frank sat down on a black vinyl chair nearby the matching sofa. Tim stayed where he was, standing near the tiny fireplace. He noticed it was black marble like most of Ann's furniture. On the mantle he saw pictures; one Bayliss assumed were her parents. The other picture…two young girls sitting together, identical twins with cheery smiles frozen on their faces. There were more pictures of them that appeared to be had been taken recently. Tim picked up one of the portraits. "Is this Anita?" he wondered.

Ann walked up to the detective, stopping a few feet from where he stood. And though she wasn't standing in front of Bayliss, her perfume, a scent of mandarin orange hadn't gone unnoticed in the air around him.

"That's me," said Ann calmly as if there had been no murder. "The other picture, that's Anita.

"Wow, it's amazing. I can't tell the difference."

"I'm sure when she was found, you couldn't say that then. But when you saw me in the ER, it was like you've seen me before."

"The eyes," Tim reminded her. "I recognized the color and the hair." He shot a quick glance at Pembleton, noting his partner's expression that read, _'I-have-a-feeling-something's-up' _Uneasy, Tim cleared his throat, set the picture back onto the mantle and awkwardly sat down on the sofa. Ann seated herself at a short distance beside him.

"Miss Sheldon," Tim began with a question he had already known. "Where did Anita work?"

Ann's eyes roamed over to Anita's picture. "She was a teacher like me. I work at the elementary school. Anita worked with high school students."

And when Bayliss heard she told the truth, he continued. "Your parents, I'm sure they're devastated--,"

Ann coldly blurted, "Our parents are dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"As for the rest of the family, we were never close to them. It was just me and Anita. She lived here for many years. Now--," Ann faltered as tears would burst from her eyes at any moment. She managed to stop that from happening and the frigid expression returned on her face.

Frank questioned, "Do you know about Kellie's jewelry shop or any other jewelry store?"

"No. Anita never wore necklaces with her name on it. Heart necklaces…that's what we liked to wear."

Tim stared at her hair. In the ER, her fringed bangs were hidden beneath a headband. His eyes fell down to the diamond heart necklace around the collar of Ann's caftan. "It's pretty."

"What is?"

"Your necklace."

Ann stared at him warily and uneasy about his compliment. She gave him a faint smile. "Thank you."

Frank asked another question. "Was Anita dating anyone?"

"No."

"Is there anyone you're involved with?"

Ann glanced at Tim. Immediately she looked away, fixating her eyes on the coffee table. "No," said Sheldon.

"Any ex-boyfriends?"

"We didn't date much so I can't say we had any ex-boyfriends. I told you, it was just me and my sister."

Tim had a thought. "What was Anita like? Was she shy? Outgoing?"

"She was very shy."

"What about you? You seem more outgoing."

"I had to be aggressive, especially with Anita. Our parents died in a car accident when we were teenagers. We had to live with my Aunt Thelma but I'm the one who took care of us."

Frank had taken his turn again. "Miss Sheldon, Anita was found in the morning. She wasn't home with you?"

"No. She told me she wanted to spend the weekend with our aunt. I wondered why but I couldn't stop her."

"From what you're saying, it seems you were offended by her wanting to spend time with your aunt."

"Because I'm the one who took care of her. She liked our aunt more than I did so yeah…I was offended. When she didn't call or come home Sunday, I knew something was wrong." Ann peeked at her sister's picture again and then she shifted her attention back to the detectives. "Are there anymore questions because I have a lot of papers to grade."

Tim answered, "No more questions. We'll let you get back to work."

They stood and when reaching the door, Tim stopped. "Frank," he whispered, "I'll meet you in the car."

"I thought we were done?"

"We are. I just—I need to talk to her about something."

"Uh-huh. Okay, Tim. I'll meet you in the car."

Bayliss waited for Frank to leave and then he had gone back into the living room. A surprised Ann rose from the sofa and walked up to him. "I thought you left? I said I have a lot of work to finish."

"Miss Sheldon, I'm concerned."

"Concerned?" she remarked harshly. "You don't know me."

"You're twenty-nine, that's a good reason for me to be concerned about your safety."

"I'll be alright."

"You need protection. I'll talk to my boss and see if I can get an officer to--,"

Ann shook her head. "Then I'll be a prisoner. I refuse to live like that. Look, I have a responsibility to my students and I will not let this person stop me from living my life."

"I understand you have a responsibility to your students but you have to take care of yourself first. Your sister was murdered and I wanna make sure you'll be okay."

"I said," Ann shouted, "I'll be alright. If you come back again with questions and I tell you to leave, please listen. Good night, detective."

They stared at one another bitterly. Offended by her patronizing attitude, Tim fired back in a whisper. "I'm not one of your students. Good night, Miss Sheldon." He marched out of the living room, leaving behind Ann who stormed back to the sofa. She hesitated from sitting. Instead she walked to the mantle and stared at Anita's picture. Ann crossed her arms tight against her chest and shuddered.

--

Tim hadn't been in the mood to drive, preferring the passenger seat. He felt safe there, especially when he was upset. An awkward silence wedged between him and Frank until Bayliss had finally broken it. "I don't understand. She doesn't appreciate if anyone is concerned about her? Isn't she afraid? Doesn't she understand she could be in danger?"

"She's afraid," said Frank, keeping his eyes on the road. "She can't admit it. She's still in denial. There's nothing you can do if someone refuses protection."

"There has to be something I can do, Frank."

"Let me ask you question…are you attracted to Ann?"

"What?" Tim chuckled sheepishly.

Frank eyed him and smiled. "Yeah, you're attracted to her."

"She's not my type. We would never get along."

"Why? Because she's African-American?"

"Oh, c'mon, Frank. This has nothing to do with her being African-American. We're different and--," He sighed, frustrated and confused. "Okay, you're right. She's attractive…extremely attractive. The problem is her sister was murdered; her twin sister she was very close to. From what Ann told us, she doesn't seem interested in getting involved with anyone. Her life was Anita. And after what happened with Emma Zoole, I don't know if wanna pursue another relationship."

"Tim, you don't think Ann is attracted to you? I've noticed the way she looks at you."

Tim shrugged his shoulders, doubting the attraction between them. "I don't know, Frank. What I do know is that I'm concerned she's in danger and I have to close this case. At first I'm thinking these women were involved with the killer but Marissa insists Samantha wasn't dating anyone. And the men she knew, they all have alibis. Sheila Monroe…she has a boyfriend, Robert Carpenter. But she could have been fooling around with someone else. We checked her ex-boyfriends, acquaintances…nothing. Anita, same thing. Now, what I've noticed is these women have something else in common besides the necklaces."

"What's that?"

"They all have similar personalities. They're not outgoing and they seem withdrawn around other people. Robert told us that Sheila had mood swings, like someone who has bipolar disorder but there were no meds in the home. He insisted she wasn't seeing a therapist. Her family doesn't know anything. Ann…from what the other teachers told us, she's outgoing with her students, a dedicated teacher but she's distant with people. I believe these women, because of their personalities were manipulated by the killer…but who? Gee's right. We're missing something. Damn, what is it?"

--

203 Homicide. Ann strolled tentatively inside the hectic squad room. Hands tucked deep inside the pockets of her black coat. It was yesterday, Thursday evening she spoke with the detectives and yet she said to herself…

"_What am I doing here? No, I can't do this."_ Ann Sheldon stopped short. Ahead, she saw Tim sitting at his desk. The teacher breathed and continued onward. Suddenly Ann noticed stares from Lewis, Felton, Bolander, Munch and Kay, as if she had been a ghost haunting the precinct. Frank also stared, surprised to see her there. Uneasy, she didn't turn back. Kay, before heading to her desk had stopped in front in of her.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Detective Bayliss."

"He's over--,"

"I see him," she answered swiftly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Kay watched the teacher and amazed. It was as if Anita walked in, Anita the way she would have looked before the murder.

Ann stopped at Tim's desk. She stared at him, seeing frustration and tension on his face while he busied himself with what looked like notes about the case. Getting his attention, she cleared her throat. Tim looked up. His hazel eyes widened in surprise and worry at her unexpected visit.

"Miss Sheldon? Are you alright?"

"I'm okay." Her eyes fell upon something on his desk, something that seemed to bring back fond memories as her lips curved into a little smile. "I see you have a Rubik's cube."

"Yes, I do." Tim picked it up.

"Are you able to match up the colors?"

"Sometimes."

"I did it once and could never do it again. Anita was the pro."

"Really?"

Ann nodded with a grin she quickly erased, as if it had been a sin to smile. "Listen, about yesterday…I know I can be harsh and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Tim replied gently. "You're going through a tough time. I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, you can call me or my partner."

Ann stared shyly at his desk, and yet she boldly stated, "You mean I can call you." Her eyes darted back to see his stunned reaction.

"Uh," he stood from the chair. "Do you wanna talk? We can go somewhere more private."

"Okay."

--

They strode together onto the recreation pier and stood at the gate. Ann watched the crimson sunset leaving behind brilliant sherbet colors of orange, lavender and cherry.

"Anita and I would jog along the pier on the weekends. We'd take a break and watch the sunset."

"Miss Sheldon--,"

"Ann," she blurted sternly.

Bayliss smiled. "Ann, you can call me Tim."

She nodded with a stone face as if struggling to keep herself composed. Ann continued to stare straight ahead at the sunset. "I like watching the boats and—and sometimes I feel like I can't breathe, like I'm drowning and there's no lifeboat in sight to rescue me. Tim, do you ever feel like that? I imagine you do, so much death you see."

Tim leaned his forehead against the gate. He grimaced, unable to hide his frustration of solving cases, the pain of having to tell families and friends their loved ones won't be coming home.

"_**So much death you see."**_

"Yeah," Tim answered gravely. "I feel like that…a lot."

"Have you ever been hurt by someone you thought you loved?"

Tim faltered as if thinking whether he should answer that question. "I met someone not long ago. I thought she loved me but--," he shook his head and chuckled. "I don't know."

"I loved someone, when I was seventeen. We dated in school but then I found out he had other girlfriends. I was so naïve. And then I told myself, I'll never let that happen again."

Tim looked around at Ann, watching intently the faint sunlight reflected in her honey-colored eyes. She glanced at him towering above her. "What are we doing here?" she told him defensively. "What are we talking about? It was a stupid idea coming here."

"Ann--,"

"What was I thinking?" she shouted at him and walked away. "You're a white detective. Why would you be concerned about me? An African-American woman?"

"Because you're an African-American woman," Tim shouted back, "I shouldn't be concerned. I shouldn't--,"

"What?"

"I shouldn't say I'm attracted to you!"

Ann halted. She squeezed her eyes shut, stunned at what he had confessed, afraid of what was happening between them. She turned, walking back to the gate. "I know you're busy so if you don't have any plans later, you're welcome to stop by my place. We can talk more about…this."

"I don't have any plans so, yeah, I'll stop by and we can talk more about…this."

Ann gave him a quick smile and then Tim watched her as she headed back inside the precinct.

--

Tim stood outside Ann's door and before knocking again, the door opened. Ann wore another black caftan embroidered with red flowers. Thinking to himself…

"_You're so beautiful."_

Her perfume…mandarin orange…not too strong, just right…warm and inviting.

"_I love the way you smell."_

"Tim? You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, I just—uh, you look pretty in the caftan your wearing."

Smiling briefly, she said, "Thank you. Come in."

Tim entered the apartment and once he was inside the living room, Bayliss slipped out of his trench coat and sat on the sofa. Jazz music played softy. Billie Holiday, her voice, dreamy and sensuous had resonated hypnotically in the atmosphere.

Ann walked up to him but she chose to stand. "How's it going with the case?"

"It's still a dead end but I'm working on it. Ann, I'm gonna find the killer."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked about it. I'm sure you're under a lot of pressure as it is."

"It's okay."

"No!"

Startled by her reaction, he stared silently at Ann.

"I'm sorry," she said to him. "I've been stressed out lately at school and," Ann stopped, peeking at Anita's picture sitting on the mantle. She quickly looked away; her attention darted back to Tim. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Water's fine."

He watched Ann walk away and disappeared through shutter doors hiding the kitchen. Tim relaxed against the sofa, enjoying the music. Time had gone by, too much time. How long did it take for Ann to get something so simple as water? Suddenly there came a loud crash.

"Ann!" Tim sprang from where he sat and barged through the doors. Inside the kitchen, Ann screamed along with each glass she had thrown. Fragmented pieces shimmered on the floor. "Ann," Tim said carefully, extending his hands toward her. "It's alright."

Ignoring him, the teacher tossed another glass that struck the tiled wall. She then grasped another one, breaking it on the edge of the kitchen table. Ann pointed jagged edges of glass at Tim. Her eyes wide with seething rage; trails of tears marred her face.

"Ann," he repeated softly, hoping to calm her down.

She then pressed the glass onto her wrist.

Terrified, Bayliss eased toward her. "Ann, please, I know you're hurting but you'll be okay. You don't have to go through this alone. I'm here."

"Why do you wanna be my friend?" she shouted. "Why?"

"Because I care about you."

"You don't give a damn about me. Only Anita cared. She loved me and now she's gone. She's gone!"

"I care about you, too. And I know you're angry because she's gone but you're not alone. Ann, please--,"

Ann looked down at the glass. She then dropped it and a sobbing cry burst from her lungs. Tim rushed over to her and when circling his arms around Ann, she collapsed against him.

"It's okay," he told her soothingly. "You're gonna be alright."

She locked her arms around his waist, holding on tight. While Ann gasped and shivered, Tim lifted her chin. He gently wiped her tears. His fingertips inched down to her full lips, tracing the outline. Their lips were drawn closer until they kissed briefly. Breaking away, they looked at one another, then more brief kisses. Tim wanted to taste more of her and sensing she wanted the same, they kissed hard. This time, Ann broke away, both breathless.

"Tim, I—I can't."

"I'm falling in love with you."

Ann frantically shook her head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I didn't expect this to happen again but it is and I—I can't hide what I feel. I tried, Ann. I tried to keep it a secret from you but I can't."

She shook her head again. "No! No!"

"Please tell me you feel the same way."

"I want you to go."

"Ann--,"

"Go. Get out!"

"How can I leave after you tried to kill yourself?"

"I'll be okay."

Flustered, Tim brushed back strands of his hair. "Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Call me if you're not feeling okay."

She nodded, acknowledging her promise and then Tim had gone.

--

Midnight. Tim lay awake in his bed; hands tucked behind his neck. Rain plummeted heavily against the window. Bayliss stared at the ceiling, thinking about Ann…he couldn't sleep.

Ann curled herself against the brass headboard of her bed. She shivered, clutching a pillow in her hands. After a long winter, thunder roared, signaling an early spring. She tried to sleep but it would not come. Tim, he was an obsession, an obsession that frightened Ann ever since she met him. She shut her eyes, shaking, wanting him. At that moment, her eyes snapped open. Ann reached for the phone and dialed his number. It hadn't taken him long to answer.

"Tim?" she said in a shaky voice. "I know it's late but…could you come over, please?"

--

Tim rushed out of his car into the torrential rain. Clambering the steps wearing only a hooded sweater and gray sweat pants, he was quickly buzzed in. Ann's apartment door had opened again. She stood there with a satin burgundy robe wrapped around her. Tim hadn't moved from where he stood, staring at her, his hair despite wearing the hood was drenched along with his clothes.

"Come in. I'll get a towel."

Tim waited on the sofa. She came back with a towel, sitting beside him, drying his face and hair.

"Tim," she whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

His fingers caressed her cheek. "I just wanna love you. Please, tell me if you feel the same."

Ann shivered and this time she answered his question with a soft, "Yes." The teacher grabbed him, holding him tight against her. "But I can't breathe, remember that feeling I told you about?" She brushed her lips along his ear. "I'm afraid. I feel like I'm sinking, I'm dying. Help me, Tim."

"I'm here," he whispered back.

Ann straddled him. He untied her robe, seeing she was naked. They kissed hard. The only sounds heard were their moans…and the rain.

2 A.M.

The bedroom. Ann gasped and screamed from an immense pleasure she never thought she could feel again. Her hands pinned to the bed as Tim made love to her from behind.

10 A.M.

Ann's eyes fluttered open. She looked up into Tim's smiling face.

"Good morning," he said cheerily.

She smiled back. "Good morning."

They snuggled against each other. Ann played with strands of his brown hair that fell onto his forehead. "What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes, eggs and sausages?"

"That sounds de-licious."

They kissed passionately and as Ann sat up, putting on her robe, the bell rang.

"I know who that is," she said. "I'll be right back."

Tim relaxed in bed, smiling dreamily about the incredible night he had with Ann. He was in love, though he thought the same thing had happened with Emma. Somehow, this had been different, like what he heard people say when they met someone and somehow they knew that person was the one. Bayliss waited and waited, and waited. Ann didn't come back, no sound of any movement inside the apartment. Alarmed, he quickly slipped into his sweat pants and sweater. Tim's holster lay on the chair. Rushing over to it, he eased his gun out from the holster. Quietly and carefully, his bare feet stepped out into the living room. He frantically searched around. The gun held firmly in his hands. Bayliss saw that the apartment door was ajar. Cautious, he reached for the knob, flung the door open and aimed his gun out into the hall flooded with daylight. Ahead, he noticed the front door was also open. Tim ran toward it and out into the street.

Frantic again, he looked left and right. No sign of the teacher anywhere.

"Ann!" he shouted. "Ann!"

**TBC**


	4. Into thin air

**A/N:** _Detective-sweetheart, Cardinal Robbins and Midtown Midnight, thank you for your encouraging feedback. It's greatly appreciated! Havana Brown, I don't care what you say I'm still posting this story. So you would be just wasting your time shouting insults at me and other writers. We're ignoring your stupidity._

* * *

**Chapter four:** _Into thin air_

_--_

12:00 P.M. Saturday afternoon.

"Mary?" Frank called to his wife as he walked inside the bedroom. "Are you ready yet?"

Mary Pembleton stood in front of the mirror, putting on one of her diamond stud earrings. "I'm ready for the fourth time."

"I don't mean to ask you for the fourth time. I'm starving and…it's a beautiful day after all that rain last night."

"Frank, we didn't have to go out for lunch."

"Yeah but…you know, I figured we'd do something different."

Frantic knocks on the front door startled the couple. Baffled as to who it could be, Frank hurried out into the living room. When peering through the peephole and he saw that it was a disheveled Tim Bayliss, he quickly opened the door.

"Tim? What?"

"She's gone."

"Who's gone?"

"Ann!" Bayliss yelled, pacing back and forth.

Frank shut the door behind him. When walking up to the frazzled detective, he stopped Tim from pacing and listened.

"I was at her house last night," Bayliss explained. "We, uh--,"

"Go on."

"I stayed with her and--,"

"It wasn't a coffin this time, right?"

"C'mon, Frank! I'm not in the mood for any jokes right now."

"Alright, I'm sorry. You were at her house and…what happened?"

"This morning, someone rang the bell. Ann knew who it was and told me she was coming back. She didn't come back, Frank. I questioned neighbors if they had seen her with anyone and I keep getting the same damn thing, no one saw or heard anything. Someone had to see what happened. What I don't understand is why they're not saying anything!"

"Frank?" Mary interrupted, standing in the doorway. She noted Tim's flustered expression. Concerned, she said, "Hello, Tim."

"Hello, Mrs. Pembleton."

"Everything alright?"

Frank answered, "Everything's okay. I'll only be a second."

Mary had known whatever was going on would be more than a mere second. She nodded silently and shut the door.

Frank turned back to his partner. "When the bell rang, what time was it?"

"Ten O' clock. And she never came back inside. She just vanished. Tell me, Frank, how can a person just vanish into thin air, huh? How can that happen without someone seeing something?" He started pacing again. "She was kidnapped by the killer. I was there. He stopped, squinting his eyes. "I was supposed to be protecting Ann. She trusted me to be there for her." Furious, Tim rolled his hand into a fist and three times he pounded the top of his black Lexus.

Frank let him vent. Frustrated as well, he slid his hand across his head. "Listen, Tim, we've gotta search her apartment. There has to be something about this person she knew."

--

Back to work on a dead end case.

An exhausted Tim longed for some more sleep, a drink at the bar to dull the frustration and now his fear of Ann kidnapped; possibly murdered like the others. He craved to be in her arms again, kissing her soft lips, breathing in Ann's perfume and making love to her. Wherever she was, he knew she had to be afraid, wishing he could rescue the teacher, comfort her and say that everything will be all right. It was now the evening, back in his suit and trench coat, Bayliss, Frank and several officers were in Ann's apartment searching meticulously. During the search, Tim visited Ann's bedroom. He stared gravely at the bed still left undone. Bayliss painfully recalled that morning…

_**Ann's eyes fluttered open. She looked up into Tim's smiling face.**_

"_**Good morning," he said cheerily.**_

_**She smiled back. "Good morning." **_

_**They snuggled against each other. Ann played with strands of his brown hair that fell onto his forehead. "What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes, eggs and sausages?"**_

"_**That sounds de-licious."**_

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears that persisted in seeping from the corners.

"Tim."

At the sound of Frank's voice behind him, he managed to keep the tears away, breathed deep and looked over his shoulder at Pembleton.

"We searched everywhere. Nothing."

Puzzled and scrunching his eyebrows, he walked up to Frank. "There has to be something."

"Tim, we checked the bathroom to see if there were any meds. Nothing. We checked her mail. Nothing. We checked the answering machine…nothing. If there was evidence, someone didn't want us to find it."

Tim turned away from Frank, thinking, and then he faced his partner again. "We interview the neighbors. They've got to tell us something, right?" He paused, chuckling at what hadn't made sense, and for a moment it seemed his fist was about to target something else.

"Come on," said Frank, hoping Bayliss would calm down.

They entered the living room where numerous officers were scattered. Tim glanced at them irritably. "Keep looking," he ordered despite the fact they searched for hours and finding nothing.

The detectives, after not having any luck had climbed the last flight of stairs leading to the third floor. There they stopped at apartment seven. Tim pounded on the door and when it slowly opened, an elderly black woman stared at them suspiciously.

"Miss Douglass?" Bayliss asked.

"Who are you?" She queried in a weak voice. "What do you want?"

Tim replied authoritatively. "I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. We're from the Baltimore police department and we need to ask you questions about Ann Sheldon."

"Who?"

Tim raised his voice. "Ann Sheldon."

"Oh, the twins? It's terrible…what happened to Ann's sister."

"Well now Ann is missing."

"Missing? When?"

"Since this morning. Have you seen her with anyone? Not only today but other times?"

"The Sheldons kept to themselves. They hardly had any company; except every now and then, a woman visited them."

Frank's eyes lit up. "A woman? What does this woman look like?"

"I couldn't see what she looked like."

"What do you mean?"

"I know she was white, that I can tell you. But she always wore a black silk scarf around her face. I could never see her hair. And…she wore dark sunglasses."

Frank continued while writing down notes on his pad. "Was she tall? Average, short?"

"Average."

"Do you remember anything else she was wearing?"

"A long brown coat."

Tim cut in to say, "Like what we're wearing?"

"No. It was leather."

"Did you ever hear Ann or Anita call this woman's name?"

"No. I would hear Anita saying hey, come in…like she was happy to see her, but not Ann."

"Did you happen to see this woman visit Ann today?"

"I heard the bell and when I looked out my window, I thought it was the mailman. Then I saw the woman standing outside. She mumbled something to Ann, I don't know, I couldn't hear. Then they went inside."

"Inside? Inside where?"

"Where else? Back to Ann's apartment. I went out into the hall and heard a door close."

Tim shot a puzzled expression at Frank. He then said to Miss Douglass, "We're done with the questions. Thank you."

After the door had been shut, Tim fell back against the wall. "Frank, the more questions we ask, the more this case makes no sense! Ann didn't come back with any woman. I would have heard voices in the living room. I went out and saw the apartment door open and the door outside."

"Then why would Miss Douglass say she saw them go inside and she heard a door close?"

"I don't know," Tim snapped. "I don't know what to think anymore!" He marched down the stairs with Pembleton behind him. "And this woman," Tim ranted on. "We don't know what she looks like other than she's white and she's an average height. I'm sure Gee will be ecstatic to hear that."

Daylight retreated from the dismal hall that had awakened again when the chandelier flickered on.

They headed back to the apartment. Suddenly Tim froze.

"What?" said Frank.

Tim hadn't answered, lost momentarily in a recall. He turned, walking toward a door beneath the staircase. "Frank, look at this." Bayliss grasped the knob and seeing the door unlocked, both detectives immediately snatched the guns out of their holsters. Bayliss yanked the door open and they barged inside what looked like a basement still slightly visible in twilight sneaking through a small window. Frank saw a light switch on the wall and when he flipped it, a soft pink light disclosed what had been in semi-darkness. Cautiously, they tiptoed down a few steps, keeping their guns upright as they searched the dreary atmosphere around them.

There had been nothing but wood paneled walls. The floor, wooden planks that creaked when they walked and the only thing seen on the floor was a worn chair also wood. Though the air had a dank scent, what you would smell in an old basement, another scent had wafted into Tim's nostrils. He sniffed and his face had gone chalk white. "Ann's perfume. Frank, she was here." Bayliss studied the chair. Noting something on the floor beside it, he knelt down and after picking it up he stood abruptly. Tim fingered pieces of strings. "Rope," he said to Frank. "This woman had a weapon and tied Ann to the chair. That's why she couldn't scream. She couldn't do anything to let me know she was in trouble. If she wanted to kidnap Ann, why come in the morning, keep her here and then leave?"

Frank sighed, puckered his lips and while staring at the chair, he answered, "Ann didn't expect her to come in the morning. When she told you, I know who it is and I'll be back, she was talking about the mailman. This woman knew Ann would open the door for him. Remember what Miss Douglass said, Anita was happy to see the woman, not Ann. She kept Ann here because she knew you were inside. After you left, that's when she kidnapped her."

"That means she was watching us. Wait, the killer we're looking for…it's a woman? The victims were raped. There was evidence of semen--,' Tim halted, shoving back his hair in frustration. "It's not _a _killer, now they're two people involved in this?" He walked to the wall, collapsing against it and shut his eyes tight. "I should've gone to the door. I knew she was in danger and I let her go to the damn door!" Tim opened his eyes. Lack of sleep and stress had been clearly evident in dark, puffy circles beneath his eyes. He sadly stared at Frank standing beside him. "The other victims, they were missing for a few days and then--," he paused again, shuddering at the thought. "Frank, I can't lose Ann. I love her. And what about her students? When they find out she's missing, they'll be devastated."

Frank stared back at him in silence, but it wasn't a cold silence, which Pembleton had a habit of doing around people. This time he nodded in acknowledgement of Tim's pain. "Tim, we've got to question the women again, including Marissa."

A deep sigh rolled out from his lungs. "Okay," he said, straightening himself. "Let's go."

--

The detectives entered a diner in Upper Fells Point called, 'The Place' Ahead they spotted Marissa in a black sweater coat and before leaving, she chatted with her manager standing behind the counter. Tim and Frank strolled up to her and when Bayliss leaned against the counter, he stared at the waitress with a wry smile. "Marissa Clearwater."

"I hope you're here to tell me you found the killer."

"Actually, we need to ask you more questions."

"What is this?" Marissa rolled her eyes and snorted. "You're harassing me!" She glanced at the customers, lowering her voice. "My friend was murdered and you keep treating me like I'm a suspect!"

"Marissa, it's routine. We have to question everyone again."

"Why? I didn't hear anything about another body found."

"Anita Sheldon…her sister, Ann, she's missing."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Tim ignored her. "Where were you this morning?"

"I was here," she told him through clenched teeth, "working!"

Frank asked, "Can anyone verify that?"

"I can," said the stout manager seemingly annoyed at their presence. Most of his hair was gone except for some curly gray strands on the sides and back. "Marissa came in at nine and was here all day."

"What you're doing…it's ridiculous." She swung a black velvet pocketbook around her shoulder. Tim glimpsed at the bag with a gold 'M' carved into it. "The killer is still out there and you're constantly questioning me. Are you done?"

"Yes," Tim said angrily.

Marissa stormed past them. Stopping suddenly, she spun around. "No suspects yet? And you call yourselves detectives?" Rolling her eyes, she smirked and left the diner.

Furious, Tim muttered, "C'mon, let's get out of here."

--

Inside the squad room, Bayliss sat at his desk. Though his friends sneaked glances at him, Tim had been aware and wondered if they knew about his relationship with Ann. The only person who had known was Frank, and Pembleton wouldn't tell anyone. He stared at the Rubik's cube, holding it in his hand, nothing he could do to avoid another recall of Ann…

"_**I see you have a Rubik's cube."**_

"_**Yes, I do." Tim picked it up.**_

"_**Are you able to match the colors?"**_

"_**Sometimes."**_

"_**I did it once and could never do it again. Anita was the pro."**_

"_**Really?"**_

Flustered, Tim dropped the cube onto the desk. He pushed himself back and as the swivel chair wheels halted, he got up, walking over to the board. Tim gazed somberly at the names in red: Ashkin, Monroe, and…Sheldon. He hoped it wouldn't happen, writing the name a second time.

Gee's door swung open. "Bayliss!"

Startled, Tim looked around.

"I wanna see you."

As Tim started toward Gee's office, he quickly peeked at Frank staring back and when Bayliss stepped inside, he shut the door behind him. Russert sat in the brown leather chair, taking her turn as shift commander. Gee closed the space between himself and Tim. "Lieutenant Russert and I are puzzled about something. Now, before I leave and take some of those jelly donuts with me, we wanna know how you knew Ann was missing? If you called her and didn't get an answer, well, people go out, errands need to be done or whatever else they have to do that day. But the way you reported her missing…she just vanished. Her apartment door was left open and the door to the building. No one else saw this happen, only you. Now, can you explain that to us?"

"I, uh--," His head fell back, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

"Tim," said Meagan. "Were you in Ann's apartment?"

Shutting his eyes for a moment, he opened them again. "Yes," he answered Meagan's question while staring into Gee's unsteady gaze.

Gee told him, "At ten in the morning?"

"No, it was Friday night. Ann called me. She was afraid and I came over."

"You mean you spent the night, slept on the couch and made sure she was alright."

Tim cleared his throat. "No, sir, that's not what happened. I didn't sleep on the couch and—okay, okay, I'm in love with Ann."

"Tim!" Gee barked. "You've been through this before with Emma Zoole and look what happened. She needed protection from us."

"She didn't want it!"

"So you decided to protect her and now she's missing."

"You're blaming me?"

"You should've been more careful with her. What were you thinking?"

"You are blaming me."

Gee pointed his finger at Tim's face. "Find her, Bayliss, and close this case!"

Tim stormed out of the office and when grabbing his coat, Frank walked up to him. "What happened with Gee?"

Tim angrily yanked his coat on. "I'm going home."

"What happened?"

"He blames me for Ann's disappearance. You know, I wish I didn't take that call."

"But you did."

"You should've been the primary, not me!"

"Tim, you took the call."

"I know Gee would've wanted you to be the primary. He has more confidence in you. Me? What do I get? The Adena Watson case…unsolved along with more of my failures on that damn board!"

"Tim--,"

"No! I don't wanna hear it. I don't wanna hear don't be hard on myself or I didn't know that was gonna happen. I'm angry, yeah, I'm angry because Gee's right. I should've been more careful. She wanted _me _to protect her, Frank. That's why she wanted _me_ to come over. I was her lifeboat and I let her sink!"

Everyone watched Tim march out of the squad room, slamming the doors behind him.

--

Monday morning. Tim barely slept again. Ann kept him awake. What if he didn't find her before it was too late…what if? Outside, the early March sun had broken through darkness above Baltimore City. Tim moped toward his car, wearing sunglasses hiding exhaustion beneath his eyes. He suddenly froze and it seemed as if he could not take another breath. His face, flushed and pale as if he had seen something even more horrible than his experiences with dead bodies. Bayliss proceeded cautiously to the Lexus where a white envelope was tucked inside the windshield wiper. He looked around, seeing only a few people strolling by; and then Tim snatched the envelope off the window. Wetting his dry lips, Bayliss stared at the envelope. His chest rose and sank in a frenetic rhythm. Ann was gone, and now he had been part of the sick game of finding her body.

Tim plopped down behind the wheel. Taking off his sunglasses, he lifted the envelope to the sunlight, squinting at it. A necklace was inside. He anxiously tore open the envelope and instead of the gold named one Tim expected to find, it was Ann's diamond heart necklace. He then grabbed the paper. This time it wasn't the usual three-fold note but a letter. His pouty lips fell at what had been written in the same tiny unscripted letters:

**Detective Tim Bayliss, you miss Ann, don't you? She misses you, too, she calls your name, she wishes you can help her but she's with me now. I can do whatever I want with her. You had sex with Ann. I know, she told me. When you think about her, what are your fantasies? I have her tied up right now. Is that what you desire to see? She's afraid, her face wet with tears. Is that what you want her to feel? Sometimes she tries to escape and then I have to punish Ann. I hit her, she bleeds. Do you like to inflict pain? Don't be afraid; look through my eyes and watch as if you were here. You, me and Ann. You're watching as I make sweet, passionate love to her, just like you did that night. I can do the same, Tim. I can do the same.**

Tim dropped the paper. Feeling as if he would lose the breakfast eaten only moments ago, Bayliss slapped a pale hand against his mouth. Taking slow deep breaths, the nausea passed, but not his anger. "You son of a bitch," he growled and when pounding his fist against the steering wheel, he shouted, "Son of a bitch!"

--

Tim stormed back into the precinct and after settling in, he strode furiously inside the cafeteria where Frank seated himself at a table. Reading the paper, a cigarette dangled from his mouth. Distracted by Tim, he looked up at the tall detective. Lewis, Munch, Bolander, Felton and Howard were sitting at another table. Bayliss desperately needed coffee and hesitated, annoyed by their laughter.

"You're laughing at me?"

They stopped, eyeing Tim in bewilderment. Munch said, "Tim, did anyone tell you you're grumpy in the morning when you don't have caffeine? Not only does it wake you up and get your adrenaline going, it helps you think because you're not grumpy anymore. So, get your coffee and then talk to us."

"This has nothing to do with caffeine, Munch. You guys are laughing at me and don't want to admit it."

Felton remarked, "What are you talking about? We're not laughing at you."

"No? I'm not stupid. You're thinking, Timmy doesn't know what he's doing. He still can't solve the case."

"Hey, Tim," Lewis shouted. "Y'know, I'm getting sick and tired of your damn paranoia!"

"Paranoia, Meldrick? Now you're saying I'm paranoid? Uh-huh." Tim pummeled his fist against the candy machine, startling the detectives and then he had gone back to the squad room where his tantrum continued. The detectives, including Frank watched Bayliss shove files of paperwork spilling onto the floor. He shoved something else, his chair that rolled until it boomed against the file cabinet.

Gee hurried out of his office to see what was going on. "Bayliss!"

Tim, breathless and his eyes wide like a madman had ranted, "They're messing with me. They've got Ann and--," He yanked the letter out from his blazer pocket and tossed it on the floor nearby Gee. "They're messing with me!"

"Tim, get out and cool off."

Tim kicked the file cabinet.

"I said, cool off!"

After Tim breezed out of the squad room, Gee picked up the paper. He read it and appalled at the disturbing letter, he sighed, looking in the direction of where Tim had gone.

Fuming, Bayliss stepped onto the pier and headed toward the gate where he stood. Panting, watching boats momentarily blurred by his tears. Another recall of Ann's voice…

"_**I like watching the boats and—and sometimes I feel like I can't breathe, like I'm drowning and there's no lifeboat in sight to rescue me. Tim, do you ever feel like that? I imagine you do, so much death you see."**_

He fingered something in his blazer pocket and took out Ann's necklace. "Ann," Bayliss whispered. Tim's hands gripped the gate and his head fell exhaustedly against it.

**TBC**


	5. Edge of Sanity

**A/N: **_detective-sweetheart and boredsvunut, again I want to thank you for your reviews and feedback that has given me a lot more confidence to continue this story. Appreciate it! Ok, since I haven't watched all the episodes yet, I don't know what kind of car Tim drives or what his apartment looks like so I just used my imagination for now. Havana, as you can see, I'm still posting the story, which means I'm ignoring you so why continue the insults? Another thing, you can't stop authors from writing what they want. If you don't like stories with an interracial romance then DON'T read it and what's the point of insulting the author? If you feel well, so you can intimidate the person, it's not working with me. I see your insults and shake my head because I've met a lot of people like you who are miserable and want others to be miserable, too. Ok, enough of my rambling about you. Here's chapter five and the next one will be the last. _

* * *

**Chapter five:** _Edge of Sanity_

_--_

_March is gone. It's the middle of April._

_March is gone. It's the middle of April._

_What are you up to? What are you doing to Ann?_

During the night, Tim lay in bed. His sunken eyes snapped open, jarring himself out of the mantra assaulting his mind.

"What are you doing to her?" he screamed. Breathless, he sat up, reaching over to the table beside him and switching on the lamp. Tossing the covers off his white T-shirt and powder blue boxers, Tim hadn't bothered to wipe dots of sweat that dampened his face. He sat on the bed's edge, staring ahead at the wall as if hating it, hating his apartment…his life. The killer had taunted him with another letter, this time it was found on Frank's car, for he knew Tim would be alert and have officers watching his apartment. Bayliss remembered what had been written:

_**Ann has been very bad. She doesn't want to eat. I told her, if she doesn't eat, how could she survive? Tim, I think she wants to die because you're not here to take her back home. Ann trusted you to take care of her and you let her down. She hates you, Tim Bayliss. She hates you!**_

Tim's head fell into his hands, rocking himself back and forth.

--

Another hectic afternoon inside the squad room, and while Frank peeked at Tim's empty desk, wondering where he could be; he wasn't the only one when Gee stepped out of his office.

"Frank," he said sternly. "Where's Bayliss?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know. He's your partner. Find out where he is."

--

Tim heard persistent knocks, though at first they sounded eerily distant until thundering in his ears. Bayliss, wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweat pants had shuffled to the door, unconcerned about his unruly hair falling onto his forehead. Opening the door, he greeted Frank with a lopsided grin. "Frank?" he said in a groggy tone. "This is a surprise."

"Can I come in?"

"Come in, come in!" Tim circled his arm around Frank's shoulder and guided him inside. Pembleton glimpsed the untidy living room…another warning of Tim's instability. He followed Tim into the sunny kitchen where Bayliss flopped down on a wooden chair at the dining table.

"Want a beer?"

"No, thanks. I see you've already had too many. What are you doing home? Gee asked me where you were and I figured you'd be here."

"Yeah, well," Tim began, his eyes half-closed. "I need a day off."

"You mean you wanna get suspended."

"I've been working day and night on this case," he said exhaustedly. "What happens, we end up back where we started. The killer's messing with my head, wanting me to know he's slowly killing Ann. You understand the hell I'm going through right now? I'm sure you'd feel the same way if it were your wife?"

"Yes, I would."

"Yeah, well, then you should understand why I'm taking this day off," Tim said adamantly. "I'm sick of walking in the squad room, seeing those names in red, getting pressure from Gee to close this case, thinking about losing Ann. I just wanna relax and STOP thinking!"

"No, you wanna give up. Look at you. If you don't get yourself together, you _will_ lose your sanity. That's what the killer wants. Me, I wouldn't give up. Listen, Tim, I understand what you're going through, but you can't stay around here, drink beer and think that's gonna make it all go away."

Tim stared silently at his partner. Frank, waiting for him to reply, tilted his head toward him. "You're coming in?"

"No."

"Alright. You're giving up."

Tim rose from the stool. "I'm not giving up."

"If you get suspended, then there's nothing you can do. That, Tim, is giving up."

Tim stood in front of Pembleton. Seething, his eyes narrowed. "How can you say I'm giving up? You know what your problem is Frank? You have no compassion, and no understanding of what I've been going through. You say you understand but you don't."

Pembleton fired back. "You don't understand what I'm saying."

"Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be sitting around here."

"Get out, Frank!"

They gazed at one another for a moment until Frank shook his head, smirked and left him alone.

--

Frank sat at his desk, repeatedly and meticulously examining paperwork of the '29' killer case. He thought about what Gee said recently…

"_**You're missing something." **_

Surprised along with the other detectives, he looked up to see Tim hanging up his trench coat. Bayliss eyed him, acknowledging Frank had been right. Before he could sit down, Gee peeked out from his office.

"Bayliss!"

Tim sighed, still sluggish from drinking earlier, the disheveled detective had reluctantly gone inside…knowing what he didn't want to hear.

Sitting at his desk, Gee said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but…did you decide on taking a day off without letting me know why? You're not sick. No, you decided to take a day off because you felt like it." Looking up at Tim, he leaned forward and added, "If you want a day off, okay, you can get a lot of days off without pay. Is that what you want?"

"No," Tim answered, barely audible.

Gee sank against his chair, frustrated along with Frank and Tim about the three women found murdered, and now Ann, still missing. "Tim, I know this hasn't been easy for you but you've got to keep working on this case. If you can't do it, I'll have to give it over to Frank."

"I understand," Bayliss told Gee and when leaving the office, he halted. In the short distance, Tim watched a familiar elderly black woman talking to Munch.

"Detective Bayliss? Yeah, he's over there."

Tim hastened toward Miss Douglass, curious as to why she wanted to see him. "Miss Douglass?"

"Detective Bayliss?"

"Yes?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Alright, let's uh—let's go over here." Tim led her to a chair where she sat beside his desk. When seating himself, he listened to what she had to say.

"I'm very sorry it took me so long to remember something about that woman with Ann."

Tim leaned closer. "What do you remember?"

"I'm so sorry. You see my memory isn't what it used to be."

Tim scrambled for his pen and notepad. "It's okay, Miss Douglass. Whatever you remember now, you can tell me."

"Well, one day, when I was walking toward the building, she came out, wearing the same scarf, sunglasses and coat. But I noticed her pocketbook. It was black, velvet, and it had a gold 'M' on it. Oh, and there was a black silky scarf tied around the back of it. The day Ann disappeared; the woman had it with her. When you asked me what she was wearing, I didn't remember to mention the pocketbook."

Tim suddenly hesitated from writing. His eyes widened at the recall of Marissa's pocketbook when questioning her at the diner. "You're sure?"

Miss Douglass nodded undoubtedly. "I remember now. Well, my grand daughter's waiting for me. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, you've been very helpful. Thank you for coming in." When she left, Tim sat for a moment and in deep thought about Marissa. There had been something about her that hadn't seemed quite right. Frank also sensed it but they could never prove she may have been involved with the killer…until now. Tim leapt from his chair and hurried over to Pembleton's desk. "Frank!" he said eagerly and breathlessly. "We've got a suspect."

"What did Miss Douglass say?"

"She recognized the pocketbook the woman was carrying."

"Now? After almost two months she remembers the pocketbook?"

"Frank, she's old and she has problems with her memory."

"Okay, what does this pocketbook look like?"

"It's black, velvet; there's a gold 'M' on it and a silk scarf."

"Wait…that's Marissa's pocketbook."

"She kidnapped Ann. C'mon, we have to tell Gee."

Tim knocked on Gee's door and when Frank accompanied him inside, there had been no hesitation of what Bayliss wanted Gee to know. "I just talked to a witness who came in…Miss Douglass. She lives in Ann's building and before you say why did she wait all this time to tell us anything, she's old and has memory problems. But now Miss Douglass remembered something else about the woman…her pocketbook. It's black, velvet, a gold initial on it, 'M' and a short silk scarf tied on the back. When we interviewed Marissa Clearwater last month, she had a pocketbook like that. Miss Douglass described it in exact detail and she also told us Marissa had it with her the day Ann was kidnapped."

"Wait, wait," said Gee, standing from his desk and walking up to them. "You told us Marissa had an alibi that morning."

Frank said, "That's what her manager told us, but he could be lying."

"And," Tim interrupted, "I noticed the way they talked, and—and the way they looked at each other like something's going on between them. Gee, we had nothing. Now we've got something and I don't think we should be wasting any more time."

--

5:30 P.M.

Settling in after coming home from work, Marissa wondered why she heard numerous sirens outside the building. She peeked through beige lace curtains of her bedroom window. Tim and Frank rushed out of their white car. Marissa had a feeling they were headed to her apartment. Quickly, she ran into the bathroom.

Tim pounded furiously on the door. He noted Frank's expression, like someone concerned if his or her friend was losing control. At the moment, Bayliss hadn't cared. Locks were undone and Marissa swung the door open.

"What do you want?" The auburn-haired woman's eyes blazed. "Look, if you don't have any news about the killer, I'm not letting you in."

"We've got a search warrant." Tim shoved his way inside along with Frank and several officers.

"A search warrant? This is ridiculous!" She followed them into her living room. "Detective Bayliss, I know this is your case." Rage hardened her face. "You don't know what you're doing. You're crazy!"

"Sit down!" Tim demanded, and though outwardly he seemed confident, hearing those stinging words brought back doubt, helplessness and insecurity he felt when reading the letters…

_**Ann trusted you to take care of her and you let her down. She hates you, Tim Bayliss. She hates you!**_

Tim angrily rolled his eyes away from Marissa. Leaving her behind while a few officers made sure she didn't escape, he left and joined the search. Inside the bathroom, Bayliss slipped on latex gloved and opened the medicine cabinet. There he had taken out bottles of what looked like prescription drugs. Tim noticed something puzzling…the doctor's name had been erased, as if Marissa made sure his name would not be identified under black ink. Bagging them, he looked around to see Frank holding a black velvet pocketbook in his hand.

Frank said, "Look at what we've got here."

Tim returned to the living room, standing above a stone faced Marissa on the sofa. He lifted a bag of prescription bottles. "I thought you weren't seeing a therapist? What's this? Bottles of Lithium and Xanax?"

Marissa kept silent.

Frank came in, stopping beside Tim. "This pocketbook, it is yours?"

"Yes, it's mine," she said through clenched teeth.

"Well," Frank continued. "Someone saw you with it on the day you visited Ann…the day she disappeared."

"I'm not the only one with that pocketbook. Other women whose names start with 'M' buy them, too. And you know I was working that day."

Pembleton added brashly, "You're right. There are other bags like this one. Before coming here, we checked the stores where you bought it. The difference is, they don't have a silk scarf on the back of it. And your manager…he lied."

Tim grabbed Marissa's arm and hauled her from off the sofa. With cuffs in his right hand, he said, "You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Ann Sheldon."

"Why would I kidnap Ann," she screamed while Tim pinned Marissa's arms behind her back, cuffing her wrists. "I don't know her! You're crazy!"

Bayliss ignored Marissa, shoving her away from the sofa.

--

Gee and Russert stood at the window, watching Marissa sitting calmly inside the box. Tim walked inside along with Frank. Both sat down in front of Marissa. She fingered her gold necklace, what looked like a round eighteenth-century locket.

"Where's Ann?" said Tim without hesitation.

The narrow-faced Marissa kept her eyes on the table.

Bayliss slammed his hand onto the table, startling Marissa and getting her attention. "Where's Ann?"

Struggling to stay in control as if regretting her outburst at home, she stated calmly, "I don't know."

Tim leaned forward. "You don't know? Well, my partner and I believe you _do _know. Lithium and Xanax…those are medications people take for anxiety and bipolar disorder. When we checked Ann's cabinet to see if there were any meds, it was as if someone cleaned it out. Is Ann in therapy, too? What about Anita, Samantha and Sheila? You see I figured these women all have something in common; personality disorders, which means they were seeing a therapist. But every time we questioned their families and friends, they didn't know anything about a therapist. Group sessions, I figured that's how you know these women."

Irritated, Marissa nodded. "I don't know them."

Tim opened a folder and slammed down graphic pictures of each victim…Samantha, Sheila, Anita and then one of Ann's pictures he had taken from her house. "What about now?" Bayliss screamed.

"Marissa," said Frank softly. "You were ID'd by someone who saw you with Ann. So that means you know her, right? That day you kidnapped Ann, just like you did to the others and brought them to whomever it is you're involved with. Did he kill them? Or did you do it together?"

Frantic, Tim sprang over to where Marissa sat, jerked her chair from the table so that she faced him. He screamed in her ear. "Where's Ann? Where—is—Ann?!"

"He makes me feel special!" Marissa shouted back. "Like I'm not crazy."

Frank asked, "Who makes you feel special?"

"My therapist. Yes, I'm in therapy and yes, I knew those women. They were patients. Ann, she only went to a few sessions and stopped. She told me it was a ridiculous idea and shouldn't have listened to Anita." Marissa anxiously fingered her necklace.

"I see you like gold necklaces. Did you manipulate the women into buying those necklaces?"

"No, I didn't _manipulate_ them into doing anything. I don't like that word. My therapist, he wanted the women to buy them. He told me he liked the way the necklaces looked against their skin. They felt like someone really cared."

Tim stood behind Marissa. He then leaned over her. "He has a funny way of showing he cares. Look at the pictures again. Yeah, he cares a lot about his patients by raping them, beating them to death and cutting off their hands!"

"He told me they deserved it."

"Wait," Frank leaned across the table, tilting his head. "I thought you said he cared about them?"

"He lied to them. He only cares about me."

"Oh, I see. He only cares about you?"

Marissa's lips tightened. Her expression, suddenly unremorseful and frigid had disturbed Tim. She answered, "They were twenty-nine. He told me when he was a child, a woman who lived next door, she was twenty-nine. She abused him, constantly touching him with her hands. He hated her hands. He hated her! Now why would he tell me these things if he didn't care about me?"

"Marissa," Tim yelled. "He doesn't care about you. He's manipulating you!"

Frank questioned, "Tell me something, Marissa. Why do you think he's taking his time killing Ann?"

Ann smiled and looked up at Tim. "He's having fun with you, _Detective Bayliss_."

Tim picked up his chair and threw it against the wall. He then paced nearby the table, glowering at Marissa.

"So," said Frank. "It's a thrill for him and for you"

"Sometimes I like to watch. It depends on my mood."

"Alright," a flustered Tim shouted. He stopped pacing, leaning over her again. "Your therapist. What's his name?"

"My mouth is dry."

Frank offered, "You want water? Soda? Tell me and I'll get it."

"No, I—I don't drink water in public places. It could be contaminated."

"Okay, soda, then?"

"I don't trust sodas in those machines either."

"Then what do you want?"

"I have candy. It's in my locket."

"If that's what you want, then go ahead."

Marissa opened the locket and took out what looked like a small orange lifesaver but without the hole. "Thank you," she said and popped the candy into her mouth.

Tim leaned over her again. "Now that you've got your candy, give us his name."

"I'm afraid. He'll know I told you. And—I don't wanna go to jail."

"Right now, I don't care, Marissa. You should've thought of that before you decided to go along with his sick game! He killed three women and now he has Ann. We want him and that's all we care about. Name!"

"I—I'm sorry."

Marissa began to tremble slightly, and then she fell off the chair. Bayliss and Frank rushed over to her body assaulted by violent convulsions. Marissa's eyes wide with a few tears streaming down her cheeks. White foam oozed from the corners of her mouth. Tim glanced at the locket…

**"_I have candy. It's in my locket."_**

"Frank! That wasn't candy. It's poison!"

Gee and Meagan barged inside and when Marissa had suddenly gone limp. Frank felt for a pulse. He sighed and announced, "She's dead."

"Dead?" said a baffled Gee.

"Oh my God," Russert mumbled.

Frank went on. "She told us she had candy in her locket, but it was poison."

"Poison?"

"I thought she was having a seizure but--," Frank stopped, sighing again. "This is typical of someone who took poison…possibly cyanide."

Gee shook his head and shouted. "How could this happen?"

Numb, exhausted, Bayliss slid down against the wall and onto the floor.

--

Midnight. _'Nights In White Satin'_ by the Moody Blues played on Tim's stereo. Bayliss sat on the edge of his bed. He thought he could sleep, clad in the usual white T-shirt and boxers. Instead, tense hands were clenched around his gun. In the mirror ahead, his eyes widened at what he saw…Ann tied in a dim-lit room. Shivering, on her knees. And though Tim could not see the killer, he glimpsed his shadow beside Ann, whispering perverse words in her ear. Enraged, Bayliss jumped from the bed, aiming the gun at him.

"Get away from her! I said, get away!"

What he saw had suddenly vanished. Tim shuddered and blinked in confusion at the gun pointing at what was only a mirror.

The phone jolted him back to reality. Still trembling and wetting his dry lips, Tim let the phone ring. He then dropped the gun onto the bed and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Tim, it's Frank. Did I wake you?"

"No," he replied flatly.

"Bayliss, listen," said Frank, knowing his partner was growing more and more unstable. "You left without hearing what I had to say."

"We don't have a name."

"We can get his name from the pharmacy where Marissa got her prescriptions."

"Okay," Tim said tiredly. "Okay, Frank." He hung up and slumped back onto the bed. Marissa's suicide tormented his mind, pondering what could happen to a person…pushed over the edge. Tim stared at the gun beside him, alarmed and concerned about his own sanity.

--

In the morning, Tim and Frank had gone to a pharmacy not far from where Marissa lived. They waited while the pharmacist searched the computer. Bayliss grew impatient, turning away when the middle-aged man said, "Here it is."

Tim spun around, eyeing Frank and then his eyes shifted frantically to the pharmacist. "What's the name?"

The pharmacist answered, "Dr. Todd Murphy."

**TBC**


	6. The Search

**A/N:** _Thank you so much for your reviews, and your encouraging feedback helped me finish this story! I'm happy you liked my fic and I enjoyed writing it. I'll be away next week visiting my mom and won't be back till the 29th. I already have another idea and looking forward to writing more H:LOTS stories. Ok, here's the final chapter. Happy Holidays!_

* * *

**Chapter six:** _The Search_

_--_

1782 Bank Street. Tim and Frank clambered the steps of a row house that had been converted into a mental health clinic. Frank rang the bell under 'Dr. Todd Murphy' and when they were buzzed in, they entered the first floor and marched inside his spacious office once a living room. They caught the attention of a few people sitting in the waiting area, and a young blonde receptionist seated behind her desk.

She looked up. "Can I help you?"

Tim said, "We're from the Baltimore Police Department. I'm Detective Bayliss. This is Detective Pembleton. We need to speak with Dr. Murphy."

"What's this about?"

"He's a therapist and a psychiatrist?"

"Yes, he is. Some psychiatrists offer therapy along with prescribing medications."

"Well, we need to see him."

"He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"He's on vacation. Only the other psychiatrist is here."

Tim asked, "Do you have any idea where he could be? What about his family? Friends? Maybe they know."

"No, he doesn't share his personal life with me or anyone else."

"You sure about that? Some doctors discuss their personal life with the staff. He may not have told you directly but maybe you overheard something."

"I don't understand. What do you want with Dr. Murphy?"

Frank cut in. "What's your name?"

"Donna."

"Donna, if you know anything, tell us now."

She huffed and answered, "Last Christmas, I heard him mention about visiting his mom. Her name is Lynne and she lives in Federal Hill. One of the nurses told him her aunt lives there too, on Henrietta Avenue. He seemed hesitant at first but then Dr. Murphy said, well, it's a small world, implying his mother lives in the area. That's all I know."

Frank asked more questions. "What about last month, was he on vacation then?"

"No. There were times he had to stay home because he was sick."

"Did he stay home for only one day or two?"

"Usually longer than that…about three or sometimes four days.

"Donna," Tim said gratefully. "Thank you."

--

Federal Hill. Tim sat in the passenger seat again, leaning his head back and watching row houses as they neared Henrietta Avenue. He mumbled, "I keep thinking about Marissa. He took advantage of her, pushed her so far that she--," Tim shut his eyes, trying desperately to forget what he had seen over and over…Marissa dying on the floor. He then opened his eyes and went on to say, "Frank, I hope that doesn't happen to me."

"What do you mean?" Pembleton replied as if he hadn't known what Tim feared.

"C'mon," he turned his head, glancing at Frank. "You know how I've been feeling about this case and Ann."

"You're saying," Frank's eyes quickly darted to Tim, then back to the road. "You're afraid you'll end up like Marissa?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid one day I'll just…lose it. Frank, if we don't find Ann soon, Gee wants you to be the primary because he feels I can't handle it. And he has no choice but to let the FBI in on the case. If we do find Ann and she's dead, Gee's right, I won't be able to handle it."

Frank stared ahead and replied in a stoic tone, "You'll be okay."

"You're concerned about me," said Tim with a smile.

"What?"

"Yeah, you are. The way you said, 'I'll be okay' like you're uncomfortable talking about this but I know deep down you're concerned about me."

"Like Gee said, you're my partner, and so I need to know if you're able to handle this case."

"Frank, why can't you just say…Tim, I'm concerned about you?"

"Tim," Frank repeated emotionless. "I'm concerned about you."

"Why do you have to say it like that?"

"How do you want me to say it?" Frank yelled, turning the car onto Henrietta Avenue.

Silence fell between them for a few minutes. Frank shot a quick glance at Tim again. "You'll be okay," he said softer and sincerely.

Tim gave him a grateful smile and then it quickly faded when they reached one of the burgundy-bricked row houses—the house where Lynne Murphy lived. Bayliss stepped out of the car. Tension and anger crept back onto his face when he knocked on the door. The door slowly opened and Lynne cautiously peeked at the detectives.

"Yes?" Her pudgy face scrunched in bewilderment.

Tim grew tired of identifying themselves, tired of the questions but he could not give up on he was, being a detective. "Miss Lynne Murphy? We're from the Baltimore Police Department. I'm Detective Bayliss. This is Detective Pembleton. We need to speak with your son."

"Todd? Is he alright?"

"Yeah," Tim remarked with a hint of anger in his voice. "He's alright."

"Why do you wanna see him?"

"Miss Murphy, this is very important. Can we come in and talk?"

She nodded and let them inside.

Lynne sat at the dining table, her water blue eyes shifting warily from Tim to Frank seated in front of her.

Tim breathed and started the interview. "Your son is away on vacation. Do you know where he is?"

"Why do you wanna know? I'm not saying another word until you tell me what this is about."

"It's about the '29' killer case."

"What does that have to do with my son?"

"Miss Murphy, one of his patients confessed to kidnapping the women. We believe she kidnapped them; bought them to a place where your son murdered and dumped their bodies not far from where the victims lived."

She shook her head. "No. You're wrong. How dare you accuse my son? He would never do something so horrible! This patient, she's lying. You believe someone who has mental problems?"

Tim continued. "She was seen by a witness who kidnapped another woman. She confessed your son murdered the victims and she watched him do it."

"No! No!"

Frank interrupted. "Did you know your son had been sexually abused when he was a child?"

Lynne shivered. "Get out!"

"You know about it," said Frank, noting her uneasiness. Tim was also uncomfortable, the same disgusted feeling he experienced when Marissa talked about the abuse. Puzzled, he couldn't understand why it bothered him.

"The woman," Frank added, "she was your next door neighbor and twenty-nine years old."

Miss Murphy's face fell into her hands and when looking up again, she quickly wiped her tears. "Yes," Lynne muttered in a raspy voice, gritting her teeth. "She abused him. Karen Ellis. I remember when she came over with an apple pie, her way of introducing herself though I already knew her name was Karen…that necklace she wore with her name on it. She seemed so nice. My husband and I, we trusted her. And when we moved, that's when Todd told me what happened. My God, how can someone abuse a nine year old child?" She trembled…eyes wide and her face, drained and pale. "No, Todd wouldn't—Oh my God, oh my God!"

"Miss Murphy," said Tim. "Where is he? Another woman is in danger and we need to know where he is."

Tears streamed down Lynne's face. Her shaky fingers smeared them away. "He has a cottage out in Woodberry…Greenspring Trails."

--

A cacophony of sirens from police cars wailed behind the detectives' white vehicle. They all came to a screaming halt on a dirt road. It began to rain lightly then profusely. The detectives and officers raced through the woods and onto narrow cobblestone steps snaking up, up until a huge wooden cottage revealed itself. Tim noted it had been eerily quiet except for the sound of steady rain. They proceeded cautiously but quick towards the cottage. Hastening up more steps, they stopped near the door. Their guns held upright, Frank pounded on the door and shouted, "Dr. Todd Murphy, we're from the Baltimore Police Department."

Silence. The same dead calm that stirred Tim's heart drumming. And when Dr. Murphy hadn't answered, they barged into the cottage. Easing around every corner of the colonial-style cottage and inside every room, there had been no Dr. Murphy and no Ann.

"You smell that?" said Frank, looking around. "Potpourri, but it's too strong."

"She has to be here!" Tim shouted and baffled as to why they could not find a cellar or any other secret place. He followed Frank and the other officers back inside the living room.

Frank stopped suddenly at the coffee table sitting on top of a red and gold tapestry rug. Looking down at the table, he shoved it aside and tossed the rug. There on the floor lay a door. Rain trailed down from Tim's damp hair and onto his face. He looked up at Frank, determined and yet afraid of what he would find, Tim had decided to go ahead. He knelt down, gripped the tiny handle and when tugging the door, it fell back with a thud onto wooden planks. Switching on their flashlights, they descended down steps leading into a dim-lit cellar. Potpourri faded behind them. The scent of blood and death…there had been no hesitation, assaulting their senses. A few officers coughed and gagged as they continued down a narrow hall. Bayliss pointed the gun ahead, anxiously wetting his pouty lips. And his heart, it pummeled louder as if everyone else could hear it echoing throughout the cellar. The narrow path opened up into a spacious bricked room. On the ceiling was a soft pink bulb hanging down. Bayliss watched it and then his gaze slowly fell to someone beneath the light. His eyes widened at a woman clad in what looked like a silky red lingerie slip. She was slumped against the wall; blindfolded with a necktie; wrists and ankles tied with cords. Her mouth covered securely with duct tape.

"Ann!" Tim ran towards her, fearing she was dead but when he knelt beside Ann, she jerked away from him, whimpering.

Frank and the officers stood nearby. Bayliss said to Ann, "It's me, Tim." He watched through hot tears at Ann's bruised face marred with dry blood. Her frail arms and legs were also bruised and inflicted with cuts. "Ann, it's alright. I'm here. Todd won't hurt you anymore." He inched his hand toward her face. "I'm gonna take off the blindfold now. Everything's okay." Gently, Tim untied the blindfold and as it slipped off, she frightfully and slowly rolled her eyes toward him. He then proceeded with the duct tape as gentle as he could until it had been peeled off. When Bayliss saw she had allowed him to take off the blindfold and tape, he freed her hands and ankles from the cords. Tim watched her again and it appeared she was in shock. "Ann? You remember me?"

She trembled. Ann's chest rose and sank as she struggled to take in the oxygen around her. Trails of tears stung the wounds on her face. Staring at him in shock, confusion and disbelief, she shouted, "Tim?"

"Yeah, it's me. It's me! I'm here to take you back home."

Ann, after recognizing Tim, she collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably. He circled his arms around the teacher, not wanting to let go as he soothingly rocked her.

--

Ann Sheldon's eyes fluttered open. She squinted in confusion through what looked like a dense fog but when it had cleared, she saw that she was in a hospital room. Ann turned her head to the left where Tim stood, shutting the door behind him. "Hey," he said smiling and sat in a chair beside her.

Ann gave him a weak smile. "Thanks for the flowers," she said sluggishly, glancing at the dresser. On top sat a huge wicker basket of various flowers.

Tim smiled back, gliding his fingers up and down her cheek. Concerned, he asked, "How much morphine are they giving you?"

"Enough to help me sleep. When I'm awake, I see Todd in this room staring at me. His eyes so cold and I'm screaming, pleading for him to leave me alone. The nurse comes in with more morphine, he goes away." She paused and added, "I know he's still out there."

Flustered, Bayliss nodded. "There's an APB out on him. Ann, he won't get far. We'll find him."

"I'm afraid, Tim. I know why he didn't kill me quickly. It's all a game to him. Every night he'd threaten to rape and then kill me but he wouldn't. I didn't know how long I could go on, not knowing when he'd do it. That's the way he killed Samantha, Sheila and…Anita. I remember the letters he wrote to you. He read them aloud and said, you're a teacher, well, what do you think?" She stopped, swallowing hard and continued in a shaky voice. "I know why he left me alive in that cellar. He wanted you to find me. It's not over, Tim. As long as he's out there, he'll keep playing his game with both of us."

"I won't let that happen," said Tim assuredly. "I promise." Tim continued to soothe her face with his fingers. "Ann…do you hate me?"

"Do I hate—Tim, no. I don't hate you."

"I was supposed to protect you that day. You trusted me, just like you trusted Dr. Murphy."

"I stopped the sessions with him because I didn't feel comfortable going to a shrink. I didn't want Anita to go but it was her decision. See, that's what happens when you trust people."

"But…do you still trust me?"

Ann hadn't acknowledged his question. Instead, she insisted on assuring him in an attempt to silence what she did not want to hear. "Don't listen to what Todd wrote in those letters. I don't hate you." She swallowed hard again, shutting her eyes as if to fight from crying. Despite her efforts, a tear sneaked down her cheek.

"Ann? What's wrong?"

She opened her tear-soaked eyes. "I didn't wanna tell you, but…it would be unfair. You need to know."

Alarmed, he leaned closer. "What is it?"

"A nurse came in to see me a few days ago. When she told me, I was so happy, Tim. But--,"

"Ann, please tell me what's going on."

"She said I was pregnant."

Tim's face beamed with a grin at the thought of her carrying his child, and then he realized what she had said…

"_**I was pregnant."**_

His smile quickly vanished, afraid of her answer to his question. "What—what do you mean, you _were _pregnant?"

"When I was in the cellar, I noticed I missed my periods and—and somehow I knew I was pregnant even before I started having morning sickness. Todd wondered why I missed my periods and suspected I was pregnant. I told him no but he didn't believe me and so, he beat me, hoping I would lose the baby. That's when I hoped I was wrong until the nurse told me—," Ann sniffed back her tears. "She said I lost the baby."

Tim sat there, numb. His mind still processing what she had told him.

"Tim?" said a worried Ann.

He ignored her, left the chair and walked over to a wall nearby the door. Bayliss leaned his forehead against it; squeezing his eyes shut.

"Tim, please," Ann said weakly, "Talk to me." Sobbing, she repeated, "Talk to me, please!"

When he continued to ignore her, she screamed. "I'm trying, Tim. I wanna put this behind me and move on with my life. I'm trying but I can't—I can't—breathe."

Tim's eyes snapped open at Ann's last words. He spun around, hurrying back to her side. "Ann?" he called and alarmed to see her laying there, her eyes wide open as if she was…dead. "Ann," he called louder. No response, only a chilling silence that sent him racing out to the nurses' station. Not one blink of an eye or a twitch of a muscle. Ann lay there, staring at the ceiling as Tim rushed back in with Ann's doctor and nurses.

"What happened?" he asked fearfully while the doctor and nurses checked her vitals. Impatient and irritated at not getting an answer, he shouted, "What's going on?"

The doctor walked up to Tim, taking him aside. "She's catatonic--,"

"Catatonic?" A puzzled Bayliss interrupted.

The doctor went on. "It can be temporary. Right now her mind has shut down. This happens to some people after an extremely traumatic experience."

"You're saying she's like someone whose brain dead?"

"Well, it's similar but in this case, it's psychological. She may come out of it and…she may not for a very long time. We have to see what happens and if Ann doesn't come out of it, she would have to be transferred to another place that can help her."

"You mean an institution?"

"Yes."

Tim walked away, sliding a hand through his hair and tossing it back angrily. He then turned, facing the doctor again. "I need to be alone with her." Bayliss waited for him and the nurses to leave. After they were gone, he sat down at her bedside, watching her. There had been moments her eyes flickered but they never left the ceiling. Tim's own eyes were flooded with tears as he twined his fingers around her hand, holding it tight. "Ann, I don't know if you can hear me, I don't know if you still trust me…but I _will _find Todd."

--

11 A.M. The next morning.

Munch downed the last of his coffee while reading the paper. Bolander sat across from him at the table, eating an egg sandwich and wondered what his partner read that suddenly caught his attention.

"What are you reading now?"

"There's gonna be a total solar eclipse today. It starts at 11:15."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"What? No. If you're stupid enough to look at it without one of those Mylar sunglasses that protect the eyes, then it can be dangerous."

Tim stood by the coffee pot. He sipped his coffee and listened to the conversation between Munch and Bolander. A solar eclipse…he had a feeling that was something Ann would love to see, but at the moment she couldn't do anything but lay in bed, staring expressionless. No words said. Nothing. Frank strolled inside and as he picked up the coffee pot, Tim whispered, "Frank, have you ever thought about having a family?"

Frowning in bewilderment at Tim's unexpected question, he lowered his voice and said, "Yes, It's something Mary and I want." He reached for a cup, pouring the coffee.

Tim rambled on with a smile of someone pushed to the edge and ready to fall. "Well, I wanted to tell you, it's a wonderful feeling when you find out the woman you love is pregnant. You say to yourself, wow, she's carrying my child." Tim pointed at himself. "My child."

Frank put the cup down. "Ann? She's pregnant?"

"She was." The warmth that had been a façade morphed into a frigid expression on his face. He stared bitterly into Frank's eyes. "Todd suspected Ann was pregnant and beat her so that she could lose the baby. The son of bitch murdered our child."

Tim stormed away, dumping his cup of coffee into the garbage and leaving behind a stunned Frank Pembleton.

The phone rang continuously on Tim's desk. He hurried over to it and answered, "Homicide, Bayliss."

"Tim Bayliss," he heard a male voice say, soft and yet frigid.

"Who is this?"

"It's a shame about Ann. It'll never be the same. Mentally, she's a wreck. You know that."

Assuming it was Dr. Murphy, Tim looked around the squad room. He then answered, "Do you think you can keep hiding? We'll find you."

"That's why I'm calling. I want to meet you, Tim. I'm at an old warehouse near a pier at Thames Street. You know what warehouse I'm talking about. Bring your friends, but when you get here, I want you to separate from them and meet me inside a cargo room on the second floor. I'll leave the door open so you'll know where I am."

Before Tim could utter another word, Dr. Murphy had cut the conversation. Bayliss slammed the receiver into its cradle. Rushing over to Frank's desk, he said, "I just got a call, an anonymous tip about where Todd is."

Frank jumped onto his feet. "Where?"

"An old warehouse on Thames Street. This person didn't tell me which one, but specifically mentioned a warehouse near the pier."

--

Tim sat quietly. Other times he was uneasy when Frank or anyone was speeding, especially after the accident he had with Lewis. But he sat there, silent and staring ahead with an evident determination to arrest Todd. The sky began to darken as the moon's shadow sliced more and more sunlight. Police cars screeched to a sudden stop. Street lamps flickered on and when the detectives bounded from their vehicle, there had been nothing but warehouses and the vast sky above them—an eerie indigo twilight as the sun reached totality. They hastened toward the warehouse closest to the pier. Officers with their shields had broken a rust weary lock. Shoving their way inside and switching on flashlights, they began the search for Dr. Todd Murphy in what was once a clothing warehouse. To the left, Tim noticed wrought-iron stairs leading to the second floor.

"Frank," he whispered. "I'll check upstairs." And when Pembleton nodded, Tim quickly clambered the steps. With his gun aimed in front of him in his right hand, the flashlight in the other, he proceeded, slow, cautious, and then Tim froze. Ahead was a door half closed. _"That has to be it,"_ Bayliss thought and continued towards it. Cautious again, he touched the door, gingerly opening it. Tim entered semi-darkness. His heart thundered like it had done inside the cellar. His eyes darted around the cargo room along with the flashlight.

"Tim."

Bayliss swung around in the direction of the familiar voice. His flashlight zoomed in on an old crate. Stepping into the light was a square-faced man with dark hair. And as he walked closer, Tim could see more of him, a few inches shorter than Bayliss. He was also thin with blue eyes, cold, exactly like the way Ann described them. Tim aimed his gun at the psychiatrist wearing a hooded navy plaid jacket.

"You bastard," Tim said through clenched teeth. "Samantha, Sheila, Anita…and then you manipulated Marissa into kidnapping Ann. You tortured her and killed our baby!"

"Do you think I wanted to do those things?" said Todd. "I could never forget what she'd done to me."

"I know what happened. Marissa and your mother told us. Karen Ellis, she abused you when you was a child."

"If it happened to you, wouldn't you feel the same?"

Confused, Tim stared at him and for a moment he struggled with his words, with his gun that trembled slightly.

Todd smiled. "We have something in common, right, Tim?"

Bayliss shook his head. His face now dotted with sweat.

"Ann told me about the times she felt like she couldn't breathe, like she was drowning and there was no lifeboat to save her. Well, she found it…you. But what about me? I've been thinking and realized I could save myself." Todd swiftly raised a gun he had been hiding behind him and pressed it against his right temple. "This is my lifeboat."

Tim's eyes widened and though he wanted to say, _'don't do it, Todd,'_ or _'please, put the gun down'_ He stood there assaulted with confusion, bitterness and anger.

Todd slowly pulled back the trigger; shutting his eyes tight and then they snapped open. He panted. "I can't. I can't!"

Frank wondered what had taken Tim so long to come back when jarred by gunfire. With the officers behind him, he raced up the steps and into the room. There on the floor sat Tim against the wall, staring as if in shock at Todd slumped near a crate. The right side of his head…bloody, unrecognizable. The crimson liquid was also splattered on the crate. Tim blinked a few times as sunlight came out of hiding, out from the darkness, through dingy squares on the window and falling onto his face damp with sweat.

"Tim?" Frank leaned over him. "Tim?" he called again. "What happened?"

"He—uh, he had a gun and killed himself. I couldn't stop him." Bayliss looked up at his partner. "I couldn't stop him."

During the late afternoon, Tim stood at the board. Breathing deep and letting it roll slowly from his lungs, he erased the names: Ashkin, Monroe, Sheldon. Picking up a marker, he wrote the names again in black. Frank headed toward the cafeteria in desperate need of coffee when suddenly blocked by Kay.

"Frank, I need to talk to you."

--

Pembleton never got any coffee. He sat at his desk, pondering what Kay told him…

"_**I heard Bayliss talking on the phone. If it was an anonymous tip, then why would he say, do you think you can keep hiding?"**_

Unable to let it go, Frank got up, walked over to Tim's desk and plopped down in a chair.

"What's up?" said Tim, puzzled as to why Frank stared at him silently.

Bayliss leaned forward. "Frank?"

"You told me earlier that you got an anonymous tip."

"Yes, I did."

"Who was it? A man? A woman?"

"A man."

Frank stared at him again. Uneasy with his partner's behavior, Tim said, "Why are you asking me about this now?"

"You're sure it was anonymous?"

Taken aback by Frank's remark, he answered defensively, "What are you saying? That I lied about the tip? Why would I do that, Frank? I don't know what's your problem but after what I've been through, I don't need you interrogating me. I'm leaving. I need to see Ann."

After Bayliss had gone, Frank held his head in his hands…thinking. Thinking. Why would Kay lie? Why would Tim lie? He recalled how eager Tim was to check the second floor, as if he had known something. Todd killed himself. His prints were on the gun. Ballistics confirmed the bullet was from his gun. Frank had also known a cop could slip on latex gloves kill someone and say the person committed suicide—a cop who couldn't handle it…unstable. He recalled Tim's anger about Ann's pregnancy…

"_**Todd suspected Ann was pregnant and beat her so that she could lose the baby. The son of bitch murdered our child."**_

"What really happened in there, Tim?" Frank said to himself.

--

Tim entered Ann's room and sat down beside the teacher. He watched her lay there, gazing toward the window.

"There was a total eclipse today," said Bayliss. "I know you like watching the sunset and, uh—I didn't have time to actually see all of it, but from what I did see, it was beautiful." Tim wished she would talk, do something. Ann heard him but she chose to go to another place, whatever that place was. For now, he had to be patient, to love her though they could not be together the way he wanted. "I know you're still afraid of Todd. You don't have to worry about him anymore. We found him in a warehouse and…he's dead." Tim reached into his brown blazer pocket and pulled out Ann's heart necklace. He unhooked it from the lock, placed the silver chain around her neck and locked it again. Bayliss gently turned her face toward him. She looked around the room. Every now and then her eyes briefly met his, but it was as if Ann had been blind.

Bayliss leaned over her. Sniffing back his tears, he whispered, "I love you." He kissed her lips while sliding his fingers over her hand. "Ann, please tell me that you love me, too. If you can't, then squeeze my hand."

Tim waited. No reaction and to his surprise, her fingers moved, weakly twining themselves around his hand. He smiled, acknowledging her reaction by tightening his grip. Bayliss laid his face onto her shoulder. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he whispered something else…

"I hope one day you can forgive me."

_Forgive me._

**End**


End file.
